Summer Shudder
by Nina Ridgmont
Summary: Cole visits his cousins in Degrassi. He learns that Kendra has the same ability that he has and she is dealing with her ghosts of the past. Then life-threatening accidents start happening to the other Degrassi students. Is Rick Murray responsible? Content is at Degrassi level (so T) but the language is a bit stronger.
1. Chapter 1

**AN: My heartfelt condolences to those affected by the Newtown, CT shooting. **

**This is an older story. I was surprised to hear that Degrassi is still running. This story addresses some earlier seasons, most notably the episodes "Time Stands Still" and "Back In Black". The content of this story might be disturbing to some readers, in light of recent events. Particularly because I am portraying Rick Murray in a more sympathetic light than readers may think he deserves, though I don't think it's much different from how the show portrayed him (except the supernatural bits.) I find it much harder to sympathize with the instigators of the actual school shootings, and the issue of whether they deserve sympathy is a can of worms I might be opening. I cannot comment on those issues. We'll never know their situations as thoroughly as we know the fictional Rick Murray's. And my sympathies, without question, lie with their victims, who were robbed of their lives and their futures.**

**Degrassi is a complicated show to follow so I apologize for any inaccuracies with timeline or characterization. **

Kendra pounded on Spinner's door for the fifth time that morning.

When Spinner didn't respond, as he hadn't the past four times, Kendra rammed herself through the door. She tripped over a CD rack that he had left out presumably as some kind of barricade. She rubbed her shin, then waded towards the shades.

Sunlight shot into the room. The rubble on the bed shifted.

"Spinner," Kendra snapped. She grabbed the end of the blanket and yanked it off the bed. Spinner recoiled, but there was nothing to hide under.

"It's morning," Kendra announced firmly. "Come on, we've got to pick up Cole at the airport."

"We?" he grunted.

"As in including you."

"We don't both need to go," Spinner argued with immutable logic. "You can go yourself."

"But I don't have my license," Kendra reminded him. The plan was that Spinner would break from his anti-social state for that reason alone. He would be obligated to come out of the house for this unavoidable errand.

Spinner made no attempt to move: not out of obligation or, heaven forbid, basic courtesy.

"Then don't get pulled over," was his disinterested reply.

Grumble. Kendra stomped out, kicking the wayward CD rack on the way

Kendra's parents usually left them to their own devices. Since grade school, they expected Kendra and Spinner to raise themselves and take care of their own needs. Of course, that didn't stop them from accepting brief custody of a kid cousin they never even met. "It'll be a good experience for them," they must have said to each other. "It'll force them to learn some responsibility."

Kendra usually did not mind the freedom, she wished that her parents acted more concerned with Spinner getting expelled. Their way was handling it was to tell Spinner to "work it out himself."

Kendra could not help but wonder if Cole was in the same situation. Cole's mother, who Kendra has not met, sent him here because of an emergency, but she could not be so devoid of friends that she had to ship Cole across the continent to get a babysitter.

Kendra slid into the car seat and jammed the keys in the ignition. She tilted back the rear view mirror.

"Feeling brave, Rick?" she muttered, barely reining in her flare of anger.

Rick rose from his crouch position in the backseat.

"Where are we going?"

"I'm going to the airport," Kendra hinted.

"Interesting."

"No, it's not." Kendra sighed. Not wanting to enter into another fruitless argument in kicking Rick out of the car, she said, "If you're that bored, you can come. But no talking."

Rick motioned zipping his lips. She sighed again.

Kendra cruised down the highway to the airport. She drove smoothly, skillfully shifting between lanes and gliding off the offramp.

Rick kept to her demand. He did not talk. He let her concentrate on driving.

At the end of her flawless performance on the road, Kendra inched the car in an empty parking spot.

She opened the trunk and wrestled out the poster board sign she made to greet Cole.

"Who's Cole?" he asked. Kendra glared at him. "Just friendly conversation," he said, dejectedly.

"He's my cousin."

Rick was not to be satisfied with the bare minimum of details. "So how long is he staying?"

"A while," Kendra could not provide better information than that. Her parents, in arranging the visit, could not narrow down an exact timetable for the length of Cole's visit. His mother claimed he would need to stay for a while. "Maybe a month or more," her parents had relayed to her.

"You don't seem that thrilled with it," Rick commented. "Is he that bad?"

Kendra shrugged. Rick's use of "bad" was too vague to make any terse reply. "I never met him," she offered for her lack of unbridled joy.

"Interesting," Rick repeated.

Kendra restrained an angry frown. She did not want to explain or defend her angry mood. She should not have to outline that it was not Cole's visit that was the problem. It was the timing of it. But Rick would perceive that explanation the wrong way, that she was saying it was his fault.

_It is his fault_, Kendra argued silently to herself. But, hell, it would do no good to rub it in.

She cut short the inner dialogue and strode to the terminal, unclenching her hand so she would not make a crease in the sign.


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: Visited some of the other Degrassi stories and found that I made a colossal error. Degrassi is set in Toronto and not Vancouver as was my educated guess. I am very, very sorry for that mistake. Unfortunately it would take more than a word change to correct the error, so I am going to leave it as it is. I hope it doesn't affect your enjoyment of the story.**

The plane disgorged its passengers. Cole clutched his carry on bag. He had a folded up copy of the email his Aunt Abby sent, in which she informed him that his teenage cousins, Gavin and Kendra, would pick him up at the airport. It included a fuzzy picture so he could identify them.

It was not that hard to find the lone girl holding up a sign that bore his name.

Cole hesitated for the longest time. More than anything, he wanted to turn back around and fly home. But he had to get rid of his surge of fear. He had faced scarier situations than this, and his life was better for it. He could handle staying with these strange relatives for a few weeks.

He approached the girl with the sign.

"You're Kendra Mason?" he asked.

"Yeah," the girl gave him a uneasy grin.

He looked over her again.

"I'm the adopted one," she explained. "My Caucasian brother was supposed to drive us, but instead he's at home being lazy."

Cole looked down at his shoes. "Oh."

"It has nothing to do with you." Her attempt to reassure him sounded too crisp to comfort. "He's in a tiff about everything."

Again Cole wished he could go home. Almost anything would be better than imposing on this family, with the distant parents, an icy-tongued girl, and a guy who was in a "tiff" about everything. It was too bad his cousins were not closer than his age; then he would at least have a playmate during this long visit.

"So who's driving?" he asked.

"I am." Kendra tucked the sign under her arm. "Car's in the parking lot. Let's go."

He followed her outside. She walked too quickly, not letting him stop to look at the totem poles that adorned the airport.

A guy was waiting for them in the car. He was slightly older than Kendra. The guy waved to Kendra, then stepped out of the way while she chucked the sign into the trunk.

"Didn't you say Gavin was at home?" Cole asked, confused.

"We call him Spinner." Kendra was kind enough in correcting him "Yeah. Last I saw, he was in his rat's nest of a bed."

"Then the guy by your car, is he your boyfriend?"

Kendra stumbled.

"Guy?" she questioned.

"The one standing next to you. With the long hair and the glasses."

Cole realized he blundered as soon as the words left his mouth. The sour faced girl did not think much of him before, but now she would know about his freakish trait.

Kendra backed up. She leveled the same squinty stare he had given her inside the airport.

"You can see him?"

Kendra was completely boggled. She had never met anyone who could see the same ghosts that she always saw. Yet this eight-year-old just described Rick.

Rick took it upon himself to break the deadlocked silence. Figuring the "no talking" rule no longer applied, he said to the kid, "Hi, I'm Rick."

"I'm Cole," the kid echoed his introduction.

"So you can see him," Kendra confirmed, speaking more for herself than to the others.

"Yeah," Cole said. He deduced that if she was commenting that he could see this dead person, then that meant she could see him too. Cole had never met anyone with his same ability either. He, too, froze in unconcealed shock.

Kendra snapped to a decision. "We should get home," she ordered. She opened the door and reached over to unlock the car from Cole's side. Cole complacently climbed in and adjusted the carry on bag over his shoulder. Rick had already moved to the back seat.

"Can the others see him too?" Cole asked.

"Huh?" Kendra realized he meant her family, his distant relatives. She shook her head. "No. I'm the only one."

"Do they know?"

"No." Her parents and Spinner were usually too wrapped up in their own lives to notice her weird behavior.

She gunned the engine and steered out of the parking lot.

Cole's mind swarmed with endless questions. It would be nice to talk about it with someone who has experienced the same thing; he could compare his encounters with hers. He never disclosed much about them to anyone else, not even to his mom or Malcolm Crow. He trusted them unconditionally, but there were some aspects of his weird trait that they might never be able to understand; that no one would be able to understand unless they had been through the same thing.

Except Kendra was not as receptive to confiding to him.

Kendra drove in silence. She kept her eyes riveted to the road. Rick remained silent as well. Cole got the impression that the dead person was partly intimidated by her. If Cole guessed right, Rick and Kendra must have known each other before his death.

Even if they had gotten along before, Rick's death would have created a rift in their amicable relationship. It was strange enough in Cole's situations, when it has always been an older adult who died. Death upturned the entire order of the hierarchy achieved in life. But if the dead person from your life was someone your age . . . Cole had been fortunate not to go through that.

He watched out the window as Kendra entered the subdivision and pulled the car in the driveway of a two-story house with flaking paint. Cole studied the house, though it did not merit that much interest. He watched the front door, expecting that his uncle and aunt would come rushing out the door to greet him.

Kendra had already stepped out of the car. Only after she had jogged up half the steps did she remember to stop and wait for Cole to catch up.

"My parents aren't home," she explained, after he hurried out of the car. Cole turned around to see if Rick would follow them inside, but Rick had vanished.

She unlocked the door and led him into the kitchen, which was twice as large as the one at home. Cole dropped his bag in an empty chair.

"Have you had breakfast?" Kendra asked solicitously.

Cole glanced at the clock. It was closer to lunch time. "No."

Kendra opened the refrigerator. "Anything in particular you want?"

Cole shrugged.

Kendra pulled out a box of microwaveable burgers. "They're Boca Burgers. Meatless. I don't eat a lot of meat. I'm guessing you don't, either?"

Cole ate as much meat as anyone else he knew, but he said, "Right."

Kendra wrestled the burgers out of their wrappers and slammed them into the microwave. As the microwave droned, Kendra's shoulders sagged.

She assembled the burgers and sat at the table across from him.

"I'm sorry," she said. "This isn't you. It's-"

She left that unfinished.

"Does it have to do with Rick?" Cole asked.

"Sort of." Kendra bit into her burger, forestalling an inevitable question.

"Were you close?" Cole asked, working towards the boyfriend theory again.

"I've only spoken to him once or twice in his life," Kendra said. "You could say he was the friend of a friend. He only hangs around here because I'm the only one that can see him."

She had been debating the whole ride home whether to reveal how Rick died. She would have to; it was still big news in Degrassi and anybody could bring it up before she decided to.

"Rick brought a gun to school," she told him. "Some bullies were bullying and they pulled this prank . . . have you ever seen the movie _Carrie_?" She did not wait for an answer. "So he brought a gun to school. For revenge."

Cole's eyebrows raised. He understood what she meant. A school shooting.

"How many people did he shoot?" he asked.

"One." Kendra shredded the remains of her burger. "No one else died. The guy he shot is paralyzed for life. And when he died, he was aiming a gun at the girl he liked, but someone else jumped in and fought him. Rick ended up getting shot."

Cole looked down at his uneaten burger. There was little he could say about this. About Kendra's anger at Rick. She had every right to be angry. Especially if it were her friends who were involved.

"You're helping him, though." Cole finally said.

Kendra tightened her hands into fists.

"Well, the shooting . . . he's nice enough most of the time. We worked out a deal. If I help him, he leaves certain parties alone. He might be able to do things," she added unnecessarily. "If he gets angry or something. I mean, he didn't have all that much control over his anger when he was alive. It's a necessary precaution."

Cole nodded. It was true that dead people could harm the living, whether they wanted to or not.

"I don't think he'll cause any problems for you," Kendra reassured him. "Or me. It's just an issue of conflict of interest. But there's no one else to help him."


	3. Chapter 3

"There's no one else to help him."

As soon as Kendra uttered the words, she realized, that was not true. Cole was a seer of dead people. The "no one else" came to her out of habit.

He was a seer but he was not a solution. She could not exactly dump her obligation on an eight-year-old. And the conflict of interest was not as dire as she made it out to be. Sure, she was the sister of one of Rick's most determined bullies; in fact, Spinner had instigated the rather complex prank that switched Rick into psycho mode, but Spinner tried to repent for his part. Rick knew that. He knew to leave Spinner out of his dead person goals.

"So Rick is here because he wants to atone for the shooting?" Cole asked.

"Yes."

"Kind of hard to do when I can't get near the people I have to atone to," Rick said, materializing at the table beside Kendra.

"I told you," Kendra posited. "It's a complex process."

"Uh-huh." Rick knew she was right, but that did not stop him from giving her a hard time when he could get away with it. "So Cole, where are you from?"

"Philadelphia," Cole answered.

"Ever dealt with any school shooters there?"

Kendra aimed a withering look at Rick.

"No," Cole spoke at the same time as Kendra, who shouted, "Hey."

"Kendra, relax. You said at his age, you dealt with things that were just as bad," Rick reminded her.

"Oh, mind your own business," Kendra spat back.

"I'm dead. I don't have any business."

Cole averted his eyes from Rick.

"Gotta go," Rick said suddenly. He abruptly vanished.

The drone of Spinner's MP3 player reached them before Spinner sauntered in. He went directly to the fridge and took a long swig of milk.

Kendra waited until he finished before she tried to catch his attention.

"Spinner!" she shouted at the top of her lungs. "Spinner!"

Spinner, hearing his name as a stray echo, looked towards the table.

"You're back already?" he asked. He, too, shouted over the deafening volume of the music.

Kendra rolled her eyes. Spinner finally adjusted the volume so he could talk more humanly.

"This is Cole," Kendra said.

"Hi." Before Cole could return Spinner's curt greeting, Spinner had returned to blasting his music.

Kendra stepped over to him and tapped his shoulder. Spinner jabbed the volume button. "What?"

"Where are you going?"

"To work." A look of disgust passed over him at Kendra's babying him. He shot up the music again.

"OK!" Kendra shouted. She gave Cole a long-suffering look. See what I have to put up with? Cole was too amazed to respond.

Spinner swept out the door.

Cole finally broke his stunned silence. "Is he always like that?" He whispered, like he was afraid Spinner would overhear.

"Lately, yeah."

Spinner tromped back into the kitchen.

"What the hell did you two do to the car?"

Kendra and Cole scrambled outside after Spinner, who showed them that the car was in a very different state from when they left it.

All the windows were cracked. The glass still held in place but the web of cracks obscured the windshield and the front windows.

Kendra stammered, "The car was fine when we got home." She calculated how long she and Cole were in the kitchen, discussing Rick. It could not have been more than a half hour.

Spinner believed her; he knew Kendra was a good driver. "Great, so some asshole just passed through here and did this. Just my luck."

Cole had wandered to the other side of the car. "Kendra, look," he announced.

Kendra and Spinner crossed the driveway. They spotted the anomaly right away.

Two small holes bored into the driver's side window. The bullet holes, within inches of each other, reached the height of the driver's head.


	4. Chapter 4

Kendra said she would handle calling the body shop and the police. Spinner nabbed a ride with Jay Hobart.

While waiting for the tow truck to arrive, Kendra spotted Rick.

"Do you know what happened?" she asked.

Rick puffed up in defense, though nothing in Kendra's tone suggested she was accusing him. "I didn't do this," he informed her icily.

Kendra blinked. "I was just asking if you saw anything."

"No, I didn't. I don't know anything more than you."

Cole glanced at Rick warily, but Kendra did not seem to take any special notice of Rick's protests. Kendra saw Rick's display of temper as perfectly normal; he would have thrown a hissy fit whether he was innocent or guilty, and she explained it briefly to Cole once Rick left.

While Kendra was busy with the tower, Cole slipped upstairs. He had promised to call his mom once he arrived in Degrassi and he had put it off for a couple of hours.

His mother picked up on the second ring. "Hi, honey."

"Hi."

"How was the flight?"

"Okay." Cole thought back to the flight, which had already receded from his memory. "There weren't any problems."

"And the Masons? How are they? Are they nice to you?"

"Yes." Cole hesitated. He wondered if it was okay to tell his mom that Kendra could see dead people too. That offered too many complications, though. It would make his mom worry. And he doubted Kendra would welcome him spreading that information around. She seemed to value her sixth sense as a private affair.

"I haven't met the parents yet," he clarified for his mom. "But my cousins are nice. Kendra made lunch for me."

"That's good," his mother sighed. "I know the kids are older than you, but I'm sure there's someone your age around. Abby told me about some of the youth programs there. You could ask her or Kendra to find one of those."

"Yeah," Cole said. He was not as enthusiastic about that as his mother sounded. He hated leaving his friends in Philadelphia. He had just made real friends for the first time in his life, and he had to spend the summer apart from them.

Cole would not complain to his mother, though. It couldn't be helped.

"I'm so glad to hear from you," Lyn said. Her voice thickened, as if she were about to start bawling. "Listen, if anything happens, you can call me. I'll try to arrange something, if you're unhappy there."

"I know, Mom," Cole spoke patiently, even though he hated it when his mother got all worried. "Everything's fine. I'll talk to you in a couple of days."

"Okay. I love you."

"I love you too," Cole easily replied. No one was around to overhear him say that, except maybe Rick. He closed his phone and flopped on the bed, the day's events flooding through his head.

Kendra had not believed that Rick was responsible for the broken car windows, and Cole was inclined to trust her judgment. Cole also noticed something else; the glint of fear that showed in Spinner's eyes when he spotted the bullet hole.

The officer saw it as a random act of vandalism. Kendra had a tougher time dealing with the body shop convincing them to leave a loaner car. The mechanic was uncomfortable leaving a loaner car for someone who did not even have her license yet. Finally Kendra called Joey Jeremiah, the owner of the body shop, who agreed to allow Spinner to pick up the loaner car after work.

"Paternalistic bastards," she muttered as she dialed Spinner and left an update on his voicemail.

Kendra finished all the arrangements within a half hour. After debating her next action for several minutes, she climbed upstairs.

Cole managed to find the guest room on his own. He was sprawled on the upper half of the bed, absorbed in checking his phone messages.

Kendra knocked. "Do you want to go outside?"

"Okay," Cole said blandly. He did not seem thrilled with the idea. He stowed the phone in a small pocket of his bag.

Kendra led him to a small park a few blocks away. The park had an air of abandonment, even though half the playground equipment had been replaced by safer and more cheerful looking apparatuses. Kendra spotted a few people clustered around the new equipment.

Among them was Craig and Manny, two teenagers from her school. They loitered by the big slide. Craig's six-year-old sister, Angie, hung on the rope ladder that draped off one side of the platform. Craig hovered nearby, in case Angie started to fall as she climbed up the ladder. Manny, his on-and-off-again girlfriend, clung to his side.

Angie ascended to the platform, and Craig and Manny both glanced over Kendra's way. Craig tensed into a disapproving frown. Manny, stepping away from Craig, waved hesitantly.

"What are you doing here?" Craig said crossly.

Almost simultaneously, Manny spoke, "So is this your cousin?"

"Yeah." Kendra introduced Cole.

"I'm Manny," Manny said, all sweetness to Cole. "And this is Craig and Angie. You're from the United States, right? Is this your first time in Canada?"

"Yes." Cole was startled that the older girl knew so much about him.

Angie bounced down the slide. "I can do cartwheels," she announced.

Craig reached out his arm, as if to separate Angie from the unwanted visitors.

"Watch my cartwheels," Angie ordered. She veered to the side, hitched her legs up in the air, and then landed clumsily on the other side.

"Impressive," Kendra praised, which encouraged Angie to spin off several more cartwheels. Then Angie stopped and squinted at Cole.

"How old are you?" she asked him.

"Eight."

"I was wondering," Kendra asked, "if JT was running his kids program this summer." She directed the question more to Manny than Craig. "I think Cole's going to get bored hanging around teenagers all the time."

JT, who was in her class, interned in a local kids' show for the summer. Though most of the audience was Angie's age or younger, it did have its share of eight and nine year olds.

"Yes, he is. Among other things." Manny offered. "If you want, I can ask if Cole can come to one of the rehearsals."

"You don't have to," Cole stammered. He was apprehensive about the idea of appearing on TV.

Manny smiled sympathetically. "Don't worry, you don't have to go on camera if you don't want to. You can just watch."

"Okay," Cole responded. He remembered to thank her.

"I guess you'll be coming too, Kendra?" Manny asked.

Kendra blinked. "Looks like it."

Manny smiled in transparent relief. As uncomfortable as that would be, Kendra's presence was preferable to Spinner's.

"Angie and I are going to head home," Craig informed them. "Are you coming, Manny?"

"How's Jimmy?" Kendra blurted out.

She thought Craig could not possibly be more offended by her presence. She was wrong. He flexed his hands, as if he were regaining control of his anger.

Manny fielded that answer. "Okay. He's doing major rehabbing." She signaled to Angie. "We've got to go. It was nice to meet you, Cole."

She yanked Craig towards the exit. Angie waved to Kendra and Cole, then half skipped, half cartwheeled after her brother.

Kendra strutted to the monkey bars and easily swung up to the top. Cole, unable to follow that maneuver, stopped at the third rung of the ladder.

"I take it they're not friends?" he asked.

_Define friends_, Kendra silently challenged. Craig used to be Spinner's friend, before the shooting. Manny was in several classes and teams with Kendra, but she spent more time with Spinner; they had this major flirtation for a while.

"Not really," she answered honestly.

Cole did not ask any more personal questions for the rest of the day. It was clear Kendra did not have many friends. He should know: making friends could be tough with such a massive secret as she had.

After they got back from the playground, Kendra switched on the TV. While they watched, Kendra pulled out her sketch pad and carefully outlined a lake scene. She appeared unsatisfied with the outcome, as she turned the page and started again.

Spinner arrived home a couple of hours later.

"I got the car," he told them, his voice devoid of triumph. He set down a large box of muffins.

"I got your banana walnut muffins, Kendra, and one of every other flavor."

"Cool, thanks." Kendra put aside her sketch pad. She selected one of the brown muffins and took a big bite.

"Thanks," Cole echoed. He surveyed the choices. Kendra's attention, however, roved to the bandage on Spinner's hand.

"What happened?" she asked, gesturing curiously at the hand.

"Coffeepot shattered," Spinner replied shortly, as he withdrew his hand from sight. His boss cut his check this week to compensate for the cost. Without divulging any other details, he sauntered upstairs.

"Do you have a knife?" Cole asked, after he picked out a cranberry muffin. A dead woman appeared in front of him, holding out a sharp butcher knife covered with blood.

"I'll get a butter knife," Kendra announced. "Put that away," she said to the dead woman. The woman silently obeyed. She sheathed the knife and followed Kendra in the kitchen.

"Just a warning," Rick said. He was sitting on the couch, next to the spot Kendra abandoned. "Don't look through her sketch book."

"I wasn't going to," Cole complained.

"Probably not. But forewarned is forearmed."

Now that Rick mentioned it, Cole had begun wondering what was in Kendra's sketchbook that was so private. But he did not want to know bad enough to breach her privacy.

Kendra returned with the butter knife. Cole sliced the muffin in half and packed the remainder back in the box.

Cole was wiped out from the day. He went to bed relatively early, keeping in mind that it was three hours later in Philadelphia. Still he searched the room for signs of dead that had haunted his room at home.

He stood on the bed and examined the ceiling for suspicious cracks, particularly around the circular ventilation disc that appeared in all the upstairs rooms in the Masons' house. To his relief, it seemed that that those dead people had not followed him here.


	5. Chapter 5

Rick woke up Kendra, pushing at her mattress and shaking it.

"What the hell?" Kendra sputtered.

"Your cousin is cornered in the kitchen," Rick reported.

"Crap." Kendra rolled to her back. "Who is it? FaceEater?"

Rick's mouth angled in a confused frown. He never met FaceEater; dead people usually could not see each other. Contrary to Rick's assumptions, FaceEater was no cannibal, but rather a meth addicted hood whose favorite movie was _Silence of the Lambs_.

"Your mother," Rick clarified.

That was almost as bad. Groaning, Kendra slid out of bed and threw on a sweatshirt over her pajamas.

When she got downstairs, she saw that Rick had not exaggerated. Abby Mason had Cole pinned in the kitchen so the only way he could leave the room was the back door.

"I'm glad Lyn could put her writing skills to some use," Abby was saying, in her passive-aggressive gloat. "Like I keep telling Kendra, it's a tough market out there, and she should focus on something that would provide a more stable living than those silly cartoons."

"Good morning," Kendra called out, before her mother launched into the second half of her monologue.

"Hi," Cole repeated.

Kendra nabbed a leftover banana walnut muffin and sat next to Cole at the table.

"Your father and I are going to set a night for a family dinner this week," Abby said. "It's been ages since we've had one, and we might as well when Cole is here."

"Oh," Kendra said before she bit into her muffin. She ate busily so she would not be asked for a more specific opinion.

"I'll collaborate with Dave on a good evening for both of us," Abby said. She looked over at Cole, who forced an uneasy smile.

"That'd be great," he said.

Spinner stormed downstairs, then stopped short when he saw his mother was home.

"Good morning Gavin," Abby said, her voice cool and formal. "You're up early."

"I'm doing morning shifts now," Spinner announced, "I'll be gone all day."

After Spinner made a speedy exit, Abby asked, "Kendra, why don't you get a job for the summer?"

Kendra slumped back at the table. "If I do, who's going to watch over Cole?"

"He's eight," Abby smiled at Cole again. "He'll be fine on his own."

"If he were at home and around people he knew, he'd be fine," Kendra argued. "But he doesn't know anyone here."

Abby looked puzzled. "Didn't you go out and meet any friends?"

Cole gaped, amazed at his aunt's optimism. That he would be forming trusting friendships within twenty-four hours. Even his own mother, who often wished he were more social, did not expect instant results.

"Mom," Kendra groaned.

"All right, do it your way," Abby conceded, in the context that Kendra's way was grossly inefficient. She slung her purse over her shoulder and grabbed her car keys. "I'll see you tonight."

Kendra finished the last few crumbs of her muffin. "Do you want breakfast?" she asked Cole.

"You don't have to do that," Cole said quickly. "If you'd rather do something else."

Kendra rolled her eyes. "Don't mind Mom. She always thinks I should be doing something else. If I were working full time, attending summer school, taking ballet, swimming and golf lessons, and watching you for the summer, she'd want to know why I didn't join Habitat For Humanity or something else that someone else's kid is doing."

Cole's eyes bugged. "You're doing all that?"

"Just a poetry class. But that's just a couple of hours a day, a couple of days a week. Besides, it seems rude to invite someone to a new place and then expect them to fend for themselves the whole time, no matter what their age."

Kendra said this very fast, so Cole had to pause to absorb all of the words.

"Oh." Cole echoed. His gaze travelled to the muffin box. "Muffins are fine."

"Milk too," Kendra ordered. She bounced up again to retrieve it. She discovered the bottle empty, the lid unscrewed. "Damn it, FaceEater. Is yogurt OK?"

"Sure." Cole marvelled at Kendra as she tossed the cups onto the table. He wondered if she always exhibited endless energy.

Kendra did not feel brave enough to show up in the park again, so instead she set up her horseshoes game in the backyard. She had bought the horseshoes set at a flea market.

Cole picked up one of the horseshoes, testing its weight in his hand. It was not as heavy as he expected.

"It's the most unathletic game," Kendra claimed, "next to air hockey, fishing, yachting, or golf."

"I disagree," Rick argued. "Golf takes a lot of precision, skill and balance."

"Balance?" Kendra queried.

"The way you stand affects how you hit the ball."

"Oh." Kendra retreated from the pegs she had lined up. "I guess that makes sense."

"You played golf a lot?" Cole asked.

"I wouldn't say a lot, but I've visited a few ranges when I was alive."

"Still it's not an aerobic sport," Kendra said. "The only way you get an elevated heart rate is if you get struck by lightning."

"The same could be said for yoga," Rick said.

Cole was offered the first turn. He tossed the horseshoe, but it did not travel very far.

Kendra, deciding she was bored with comparing sports, asked, "So, Cole, tell me about your family."

"It's just my mom and me," Cole explained simply. "And my dog."

"What about your dad?"

"He moved out." His parents were officially divorced for more than a year, but he never used that word.

"Oh." Kendra swung her arm and threw her horseshoe. It sailed over the pegs.

"See what I mean about precision?" Rick said.

Cole, embarrassed that he had gone about it all wrong, aped Kendra's example. He got a better distance, but it had not landed near any of the pegs.

"All right, Kinetic Kendra's turn," Rick called.

Kendra faced him.

Before she could scold him, Rick shrugged his shoulders. "Just helping out. Hey, you could use it as your pen name when you get famous."

"I don't think so," Kendra retorted.

"It's not that bad," Rick said. "For a sports nickname."

Kendra gave a long sigh. It really was not worth the debate. She threw the horseshoe; it pinged off the last peg.

"Your turn," she said to Cole.

Cole was getting to like horseshoes. Kendra was right that it wasn't very athletic. It did not involve a lot of strength or stamina. It was like a bean bag toss, but throwing horseshoes had an authentic air of sportsmanship.

He spotted a teenaged boy coming up the driveway. Kendra did not see him yet. Cole hesitated on announcing the guy's presence.

Kendra finally turned. The horseshoe she was holding hit the ground with an earthy thud.

"Hey, Kendra," the boy greeted her.

"Hi." She approached the driveway, as if to block the visitor from entering the yard. Cole resigned himself into the background as he watched another strange encounter between his cousin and the outside world.

"Who's that," he asked Rick.

"Her ex-boyfriend," Rick said simply.


	6. Chapter 6

"Have you been avoiding me?" Toby Isaacs asked. No graceful lead-in to ease the situation.

"Of course not," Kendra lied. Covering up with a defensiveness she did not actually feel, she said, "People have been avoiding me, remember?"

"You haven't returned any of my emails," he ticked off. "Everytime I saw you in school, you suddenly had to run off in another direction. You stopped coming to computer club."

"I was busy." Kendra ground her toe into the tarred surface of the driveway.

"I wanted to talk," Toby said. "I want to explain about the shooting . . ."

She cut him off. "No need. I know you're not responsible for Rick's part. I told you that."

"Then why are you acting so weird?" Toby asked.

"I told you. I was busy."

"Look," Toby sighed. "I don't want to push you into this. But when you do want to talk about it, I'm willing to listen. "

She was sick of talking about the shooting. She was sick about talking about who caused it and what they could have done to prevent it. The talk was useless. Rick was still dead. Jimmy was still paralyzed. The illusion that Degrassi was a safe place was ripped away - for everyone else. Only someone regularly saw dead people understood that death and tragedy could happen to anyone anywhere.

People kept trying to turn her miniscule connections to the shooting into her problem.

Toby started to retreat, sensing the subject was closed. Then Kendra was hit with a nagging reminder that Rick had tried to go to Principal Raditch when he was being harassed by bullies. Raditch brushed him off, essentially telling Rick that his failure to fit in was not the school's problem. Suppose Toby had just dropped a plea for help.

Not that Toby's situation equated with Rick's. Toby had people to talk to. His parents, his stepsister, his friends: JT, Manny, Emma . . .

Kendra ran after him.

"Wait," she called before he disappeared from the end of the driveway.

"Do you need to talk?" Kendra huffed. She avoided emphasis on 'you', for the sake of his pride alone. This was not going to be another power struggle between them.

He paused. The initial surprise wore off quickly, but he needed to organize his thoughts.

"Just what I've already said," Toby revealed. "Rick wasn't a bad guy."

"I know." The words slipped out.

Toby did not seem to notice the slip.

"I missed you Kendra," he admitted shyly.

Kendra involuntarily stepped back. "I should check on Cole. Maybe we can all do something sometime," she blurted out.

"Okay." He nodded, accepting the restraints she placed on him. Thankfully, he did not prolong his exit.


	7. Chapter 7

The day was uneventful, which was to say it was good. Spinner put in another double shift at the cafe. Afterwards, he ducked into the newly mended car.

He rose briefly to brush away the broken glass littered all over the front half of the car. The first few times he discovered the glass, he had jumped out and inspected the car. Each of those times, all the windows had been intact, so he could only presume that the glass was left over from the drive-by. (Though he would have thought that Joey would vacuum it out.) It seemed that no matter how much glass he cleared out, more shards would reappear.

He set off for the lake. The sun had sunk, disappearing from the dimming sky. A few black shadowed people lingered on the shore.

Jay was sitting half hidden in the tall brush, downing a six-pack.

"I see happy hour has started," Spinner quipped.

"Dude," Jay belched. "It's long past happy hour. I'm freaking jubilant."

He scooped out an unopened can and offered it to Spinner, but Spinner declined, as he had for the past several days. "One smashed car a week is enough," he said lightly.

"Some stupid kids released a goldfish by the dock," Jay reported. He guffawed, "Just like _Free Willy_."

"Dude," Spinner echoed, wondering what retard would think a goldfish would survive in a lake. Maybe a koi fish, but the standard goldfish was fragile enough to be killed by the hydrogen in the water.

Jay sank back in the sand. "I ran into Emma Nelson today."

"And?"

"No 'and'. It's Emma Nelson," Jay rambled. "She has a walk now. You saw it. With hips and a waist and everything. It's saucy." His bouncy pronunciation of the word "saucy" ellicited another chuckle at his own wit.

"You've lost it," Spinner commented.

Jay was still chuckling. "Nothing wrong with appreciating a good walk."

He still acted like nothing had happened. For Spinner, there was no point in appreciating any girl's attributes; no girl in Degrassi would want anything to do with him. Jay should not be that far above him in the new hierarchy.

How had Jay escaped everyone's shit list? Spinner could not figure it out. He could not afford to, as Jay was his last friend left. It was best not to think about it. Best not to think about anything too much.

Jay left to "water the plants" as he delicately put it. Spinner, unable to sit still, got up and wandered to the diving dock. Maybe he would spot the goldfish.

The dock had weathered away over the years. Technically it was condemned, but the wood was sturdy enough to support one or two beach revelers. Spinner mounted the dock and knealt at the edge. He peered into the water. An orange orb floated at the surface. The goldfish was dead.

_Crack_.

The dock lurched to a tilt. Spinner scrambled away from the edge of the dock, but he could not move fast enough. A shove knocked him forward and he splashed into the water.

He immediately sank. He was surprised at how quickly he descended under the surface. Water rushed down his throat, clogging his head with filth.

A solid mass pressed against his mouth.

He kicked his body upwards, but he could not move. Something held him under the water. It was crazy. The surface was only centimeters above him; he could break his upraised hand through, but that would not let him breathe.

He gave several more kicks, fighting against the force that weighed him down. A slow burn crawled down his throat and lungs. His vision blurred.

Suddenly he was released. Spinner shot to the surface, gasping painfully.

"Hey, Spinner," Jay said gleefully. He stood on an unbroken section of the dock "Taking a swim?"

Spinner clutched onto the fractured leg of the dock. "Let me up," he said between coughs.

Jay hauled him out of the water. Spinner stumbled off the dock and stooped on all fours, coughing out more water.

Spinner was still dripping wet when he entered the house.

"What happened," Kendra asked. She and Cole were seated in front of the TV, as they usually were at that time of the evening.

_The hell he knew_.

"I went swimming," he said, echoing Jay's lame joke. Before they could badger him further, he climbed upstairs, leaving damp footprints all the way to his room.

Spinner holed up in the bathroom until it was past Cole's bedtime, although the Masons were more lax about instating it. Cole shut himself in the guest room anyway, understanding that his older cousin likely would not confide anything in his presence.

The guest room was where they kept the only computer hooked up to a USB cable. Cole turned it on and checked his email. He received two emails from his friends. He wrote back with a minor update. When he tried to explain what his Canadian relatives were like, he paused. He realized that even if he discounted Kendra's sixth sense, the family was still a strange bunch. The parents were rarely around, and Spinner avoided any interaction with Aunt Abby and Uncle Dave. They communicated through Kendra, as if they had no awareness of each other. As if they were dead people.

The few times Spinner crossed paths with one of the parents, they kept to bare utilitarian sentences. His aunt and uncle were warmer with Kendra, warm enough to freely dispense unwanted advice and criticism. They issued none of that advice or criticism to Spinner.

He asked Rick, who was flipping through the latest MacLean's, "Do you think Aunt Abby treats Kendra and Spinner differently?"

Rick laughed nervously. "Oh no. I don't want to die again."

"Is she really that against it? Talking about her family?"

"I usually err on the side of caution," Rick said cryptically.

"It seems unrealistic."

"Oh, look, an article on Afghanistan." Rick leaned closer to the magazine pages.

Subject closed. Cole finished his emails.

Kendra barred the door to Spinner's room.

"Seriously what happened?"

Spinner rubbed the hand towel in his still wet hair. He had gotten out the brackish smell of the lake water. "Exactly what I said happened," he replied.

"You went swimming," Kendra repeated.

"I fell in the lake. Same difference. Nothing worth discussing."

Kendra laughed. The laughter rose like a hiccup, bursting out before she could stop it. It mixed with relief and astonishment that he made all that fuss for something so innocuous. Falling in a lake.

"It's not funny!" Spinner barked.

The laughter came to an abrupt stop. Kendra realized her first hunch was right: that the dip in the lake was more than an embarrassing inconvenience.

Before she could decipher Spinner's reaction, he pushed past her and slammed his bedroom door in her face.

She just blew her one chance of Spinner confiding in her.

"Crud."


	8. Chapter 8

Cole awakened. The roof banged and clattered above him. The initial sounds came from outside the house. The banging stopped - Cole thought for good. He loosened his grip on the blanket and closed his eyes.

An unearthly shriek pierced through the silent house. Then another, and another, following at a steady pace.

_Scrape. Scrape. Scrape_.

Cole looked up at the ceiling vent. The dead person was inside. He wore metal or carried something that was metal and it grated against the walls of the passage. Estimating by the size of the vents, the passage should be too narrow for even a cat to fit in, but the dead had their own physics.

The scrapes came closer, each shriek more unbearably loud than the last.

_Scrape. Scrape. Scrape_.

It stopped just above his room.

Water plopped onto the carpet.

The vent opening rotated. A body emerged, wriggling out of the tight space. He dangled for a second while he pulled out a large club, then he let go, landing with a splat. The man adjusted the unwieldly weight of the club to his side, hooking it to his belt.

The man glanced around the room, swiveling his masked head like a mantis. Cole ducked under the covers. The man was not seeking him. Cole heard floppy footsteps squish towards the door.

The door sprang open. Kendra tackled the figure to the floor.

Kendra hated that she had to approach the intruder unarmed. She learned long ago that most weapons have no effect on the dead: if she had to fight them, she had to use body contact. She had developed a basic reportoire of fighting skills, but it was still dangerous business, because she could not really defeat them if they had a mind to kill her or another living person. She could only hope to stall them.

The light popped on. Cole scrambled out of bed. At that point, Kendra locked the dead guy's head under her arm, trying to remove the mask.

"Don't," Cole raised his voice. "He needs that. He's a diver."

Cautiously, Kendra released her hold on the dead guy. She identified him as a diver; she also recognized the clublike object as his oxygen tank.

The guy stumbled up, awkward on his flippered feet. His rotted bodysuit rubbed off on her nightshirt. Kendra brushed off the soggy latex threads.

"What do you want?"

The diver reached for a small packet lodged within his weight belt. He handed it to Kendra.

"Does this belong to somebody in this house?" he asked, his voice muffled from the mask.

Kendra recognized the brand of wet wipes as the one Spinner usually used when he was at work. Her heart skipped. The not-so-irrational thought popped up that this man had something to do with Spinner's accident at the lake.

"Aren't those Spinner's?" Cole asked. Kendra had to give him credit; the kid was observant.

"You're kidding," Kendra muttered. She had a feeling she had not hidden her alarm as well as she could have. "You broke into our house to return wet wipes?"

"I don't want garbage in my lake," the diver replied. He shoved the wet wipes towards her again. Kendra finally took the item from him.

Now that his errand was complete, he waddled to the window. Kendra stepped after him so she could prop up the window for him. He slithered out.

"Why'd he have to come here?" Kendra shivered. The night was chilly. She slid the window down to a crack; only the thick stench of lake water prevented her from slamming it down all the way. "He could have just tossed it in a trash bin at the picnic area."

"Maybe he saw what happened to Spinner at the lake."

"Well, he could have said so." She paused. "Will you be able to sleep?"

"Sure," Cole said and meant it. The diver had not frightened him any longer, now that his intentions were revealed.

Kendra disappeared to change and to retrieve an extra blanket and pillow. Cole moved downstairs to the living room couch. He wrapped the blanket around himself.

"Good night," Kendra said, as she lingered by the doorway.

"Good night." He was already falling asleep.

She went back to her own room. The packet of wet wipes rested on top of a comic book sleeve. She stared at it for a long time.


	9. Chapter 9

"For five dollars, I'll show you the place where the guy got shot."

The boy, about ten years old, leaned his elbows on the table in the school library as he addressed Cole and another boy. Though they were seated at the same table, corralled there by the elderly librarian, none of the three knew each other.

The second boy hunched over an atlas, carefully working the pages out of the binders. Occasionally Cole heard a soft tear. That boy did not respond to the older boy's offer.

"No thanks," he said, in a low tone.

"Are ya chicken?"

Cole shook his head, then turned his attention back to his book.

"It was badass," the boy said, trying at persuasion. "The shooter aims the gun at this one guy's girlfriend, so that guy jumps him and shoots him back. Serves him right. That's what they all should do. Snatch the gun and shoot him back, instead of running away like total wusses."

"That's stupid," said the other boy with the atlas. "He'd blow your head off."

"Uh-uh. Not if you do it right."

"Do you know how to do it right? Disarm a crazed lunatic?"

"Sure."

"What if he had a hostage? What if he was holding the gun at the girl's head and he could shoot her faster than you could do anything?"

"Then you talk to him. You pretend to be his friend. Then after he lets go of the girl, you ram him."

"What if he doesn't believe you?"

"He will if you do it right."

The librarian came by the table. Cole thought she would reproach them for their loud conversation. Instead, she scolded Atlas Boy for destroying the atlas.

The boy was unrepentant. "It's my atlas. I can do what I want with it."

After he proved that it was, in fact, his own atlas and not the library's, she pursed her lips. "I don't approve of you tearing up any books in the library. It sets a terrible example to others."

"It's for a project," Atlas Boy said solemnly.

"Well, you'll have to finish your project some other time," the librarian insisted, stressing "your project" like she did not buy his story. "In the meantime, find something to read quietly."

She stalked back to the checkout counter. After they were satisfied she was distracted with her work, the boys resumed their conversation.

"I know how to disarm a lunatic," the first boy said. "My dad's a hostage negotiator. He taught me all the secret hostage negotiator moves."

"You're lying," Atlas Boy grumbled. "I bet your dad's real job is mopping the floors in movie theaters."

The first boy's eyelids twitched but he quickly recovered. Atlas Boy did not seem to notice the twitch but Cole did.

Cole asked, interrupting the escalating fight, "Do you know where Curacao is?" The island had been mentioned in the book he was reading.

Atlas Boy automatically flipped to one of the remaining pages in his book. He pointed out an island by the coast of Venezuela. He quirked his eyebrows as if to say, Ask something harder.

The first boy fumed silently.

"This atlas is out of date," Atlas Boy belatedly defended himself. "It's useless, anyway."

Two big letdowns in the poetry class.

The first was that Emma Nelson was in the class. Besides Jimmy Cooper (who was shot by Rick), or Sean Cameron (who shot Rick with Rick's own gun) - and, arguably, Spinner - Emma was the most affected survivor of the shooting. Rick had been pointing the gun at Emma when Sean overtook him.

Emma, of course, was on the list of forbidden people. In the interest of peace, Kendra had negotiated with Rick that he should stay away from anyone influenced by his rampage until she decided otherwise. Her goal was to ensure their safety from any designs of revenge Rick may still harbor.

The other thing wrong with the class was Mrs. Lucas's lesson plan.

"Poetry is about expressing the truth," Mrs. Lucas yammered. "Often the truth is not discovered until you take the time to examine it. And unlike a scientist who discovers the world through the world, the poet discovers the world through oneself.

"Humans are complex beings. Our whole lives are spent not knowing who we are or who we have the potential to be. We think we know ourselves. We define ourselves by our hobbies and achievements, our likes and dislikes, our friends and families, but that is not all we are.

"Society often discourages us from discovering our true selves. We are taught to suppress emotions, to pretend to be happy when we aren't because we think our problems will inconvenience others, or that emotions are simply undesirable because we should have more control over them. I will correct one misconception now; it is not releasing emotions that endangers us. The dangerous ones are the ones who seal their emotions inside them, who refuse to acknowledge the emotions that will hurt themselves or others."

Several students looked towards Emma when Mrs. Lucas referred to Rick's infamous death. The tall blonde girl sat up rigidly in her seat, as if she wished she could fade out of sight.

"Emotions need release. And the arts are one of the ways that we can safely direct our emotions. I'm going to pass out the journals you are to use all summer. For the first couple of weeks, I want you to concentrate on noticing your emotions. I want you to explore what you feel. Observation is key here. I want you to describe the effects on you and your life. How does it interfere with your everyday life? Does it affect your relationships with your friends and family? Remember these journal entries will make up fifty percent of your final grade."

Here Mrs. Lucas paused, letting the students flip through the journals. They were ordinary notebooks from the school store.

Kendra could never understand these assignments. She kept a regular journal at home, so the problem was not the writing. It was the "pour out all your inner feelings and turn them in for me to grade" that violated the decency that any real journal would possess.

"I'm not setting a word count or demanding any of the usual requirements for your journal," Mrs. Lucas said generously. "although I want you to date your entries. Are there any other questions? Then I have a poem to pass around. It will not take long to read, and I'm sure you will appreciate its simplicity."

After the short discussion of the poem Mrs. Lucas chose (an e e cummings poem about plums, which thankfully had no heavy emotional subtext), the class ended.

Kendra strode up to Mrs. Lucas after the classroom emptied out.

"Mrs. Lucas?" she asked. "I was wondering if we would be learning how to write real poems."

"We are doing the preliminary stages," Mrs. Lucas said, smiling.

"But what about forms?" Kendra argued. "You know, sonnets, couplets, haiku? What about meter and feet and scansion? Are we going to do any of that, or are we just doing . . ."

She trailed off. She had about to say "feelings crap," but stopped to search for something more polite.

"To answer your question about form, yes, we will be covering the popular forms. But because there is more than one universal form recognized by poet circles, I want to impress on the class of what makes poetry distinct from other forms of writing. And because this is an English class, I want to give students a chance to improve their overall writing skills."

"So why do we have to write about our emotions?" Kendra blurted out. "This isn't a psych class."

Mrs. Lucas, unperturbed by the question, said mildly, "My focus for the assignment was about observation. I could hold up an object or send you to a picturesque site and ask you to describe it, but I am looking for more variety than that. Also the object or site will have little relation to your life, and a writer has to learn to draw from life experiences."

Exactly, Kendra wanted to answer. Her own life experiences, what few of them there were, were precisely what she wanted to avoid. Her life experiences were not Mrs. Lucas's call to grade.

"I'm sure you'll do fine, Kendra," Mrs. Lucas encouraged her. "I understand you've done some writing before. Mr. Simpson tells me you have a talent for it. Do you have a question, Emma?"

Emma Nelson poked her head in the room. "Just a quick question," she uttered shily. She fixed her eyes past Kendra, straight on Mrs. Lucas. "About the journals. Do they have to be about feelings?"

Mrs. Lucas gave Emma the same kind smile she gave Kendra. "Listen, I'm not asking for all your life's secrets. I'll give the same advice to the rest of the class as I'm giving to you two now. Start with something small. Think of a movie you enjoy or something that annoyed you this week. Trust me: the assignment won't be so difficult once you get started."

"OK, thanks," Emma spoke first before she hurried away. Kendra echoed the same thing, lying through her teeth because it was not OK and there was nothing to thank the teacher for. Then she, too, departed.

Emma was nowhere in sight when Kendra exited the classroom.

Rick joined Kendra at the library entrance. "So what do you have to do, memorize a poem?"

"Worse. I have to write about my feelings."

"My anger management mentor had us memorize 'Casey At The Bat,'" Rick said. "He claimed it works better than counting."

_Guess he was wrong_, Kendra thought nastily to herself. Her anger at Rick surged anew. If it were not for him, her assignment would not provoke such anxiety.

She detoured to the library to pick up Cole. Cole was waiting at the door. He tossed a goodbye to a sullen boy named Finn.

"Nice friend," Kendra quipped, her nasty mood remaining.

Cole brushed that off with a shrug.

"Do you want to check out anything?" Kendra asked more kindly. That short snarky comment had diffused her anger.

"An atlas," Cole mumbled. "But it would be safer if I bought one instead."

"So, to the bookstore?" she clarified.

"If it's all right with you," Cole answered with his characteristic tentative politeness.

Rick tagged along with them. While Cole browsed the atlases, Kendra wandered to the poetry section and peeked at a few books which gave instructions on writing poetry. Except for the occasional dryly worded dictionary of related terms, most of them took the same approach as Ms. Lucas in how to write passionately.

Cole ended up the cheap folio of world maps. The steep price of the large, hardcover atlases factored into his choice. Some of them ran up to eighty or one hundred Canadian dollars.

"You could build a fort with some of these," Rick quipped. Cole glanced at him with raised eyebrows. "Hey, I was a kid once. It's not like I'm advocating you build a fort here."

"I'm just getting this one," Cole replied softly.

Rick heaved one of the larger tomes to the floor and opened it. It revealed a detailed map of Italy, with insets of Sicily and Sardinia.

"You ever been to Europe?" Rick asked, as he turned the pages forward. "Or anywhere overseas?"

"No," Cole exhaled.

"Me neither." Rick sounded wistful. "Now, my ex-girlfriend Teri, she's done some modeling. She traveled to a few places. Nowhere very exotic: just around the continent, maybe some islands in the Caribbean or Hawaii. But I've never been out of Canada."

_And now he won't be able to_, Cole deciphered. Dead people did not have the same freedom of travel; they were too tied down to their reasons for lingering after death. Unless Kendra jetted off to some scenic location, Rick was not going to ever see one of those places himself.

Kendra found them. "I got my books. Are you ready to go?"

Cole nodded. "I've got money," he offered.

"American or Canadian?"

"Both."

They stopped at the counter to pay for their books.


	10. Chapter 10

"I didn't invite you in," Kendra said. She had heard somebody clomping through the back door. _Rick?_ But Rick's walk was usually not so loud. It was Jay who materialized out of the corner of her eye. Jay who, though living, assumed he had an unconditional right to the Mason's house.

"Well, I'm not a vampire," Jay said smoothly.

"Ha ha."

Before Kendra could rise from her seat at the kitchen table, Jay swooped in behind her and playfully caressed her through the back of her chair.

"Although," he mocked huskily, "I have been known to bite."

Ha ha. Jay was a big kidder. He had been putting on flirty moves to her since she was ten, but they were never serious. Neither she nor Spinner would allow anything serious, and it was one of the few boundaries Jay actually respected.

Cole entered the kitchen. Kendra pushed back the chair, intending to return her attention to her detestable journal.

"So you're the kid who smashed Spinner's car," Jay quipped.

"I didn't," Cole yelped, his face reddening.

Jay started cackling. "You crack me up, kid." He bestowed the compliment as if it were the highest honor Cole could ever attain.

Cole remained rigid in his spot. He had picked up the hint that Jay was only playing with his mind in accusing him of the car wreck. Part of him was embarrassed that he reacted so freakishly. He never knew how to deal with people responded to everything with ridicule.

"I'm just messing with you," Jay said, in his version of assurance. He held out his hand to Cole. Cole stared at it as if he thought it concealed a joy buzzer or some other trick, then accepted Jay's handshake.

Spinner deigned to show up. He regarded his uninvited guest sleepily.

"So what happened to your car?" Jay asked.

Spinner's shoulders jumped. "Did something happen?" he echoed, directing the question to Kendra.

"It's not on the curb," Jay explained.

Kendra, at that point, shifted her glare back to her journal. Cole, having no suitable occupation, continued to listen on.

"It's in the garage," Spinner answered, delayed by his visible sluggishness. "I'll show you."

He shuffled to the back door. Jay offered to invite Cole along. "Might as well get a break from Princess Kendra."

The three boys crowded into the garage. The garage was usually packed with outdoor tools that rarely got used and projects that never got finished. Spinner had had a chore clearing away all the junk to make room for the car. He felt uncomfortable leaving it on the curb after that strange attack, which he partly suspected was not all that random. Some of the larger pieces he had left for trash pick up, and he lined some of the tools and implements against the walls. He had finished by securing his and Kendra's bikes overhead with bungee cords.

Jay leaned forward to peer in the windshield. "What's with the broken glass?" he asked, indicating the shards that regularly covered the interior.

Spinner was at a loss to explain. "Nothing's broken," was all he said.

"You should really vacuum that up," Jay advised, as if Spinner could not have thought of that himself. "So it was just the windows?"

"Yup." Spinner yawned.

"Weird," Jay said. "Any self respecting vandal would make the car immobile. At least slash the tires."

"You ever been egged?" Spinner argued. "It doesn't prevent you from driving to the car wash."

Jay grinned, as if to boast that he had more often been on the egging side than the egged. "Egging has its own bonuses. But that's kid's stuff," he added hurriedly, remembering egging cars at his age did not enhance his tough image.

"So is smashing windows," Cole murmured. His tone was passionless, matter-of-fact. He had not meant to speak aloud; he did not want to add to this inane conversation.

Jay brandished a flashlight from a hook on the wall. He shone the light on Cole. "So what's the latest trend in car pranks where you are from?" he challenged.

"Cow's blood," Cole answered, making it up on the spot. He had seen a car smeared with blood recently when he and his mother drove on errands, but one time hardly made a trend. He doubted it was cow blood anyway. The answer emboldened him; he stood up straighter at the corner.

"Wow," Jay spoke in admiration. "That's inspired."

"Dude," Spinner said disapprovingly. He said nothing further, figuring why ruin the favorable impression the kid made on Jay.

Jay aimed the flashlight back at the car. He wove the light up and down at each window. The glass layered on the front seats glittered under the beam.

"It's the same as when you saw it the other day," Spinner said, his patience wearing thin.

"You did remember to ask for UV protected glass?" Jay asked.

"Yeah, sure." Spinner paced to the far wall. He swiveled in the narrow space.

Cole saw the bicycle on the wall behind Spinner. The chain started to reel. Before he could react, it snapped. The chain lashed just in front Spinner, arcing at a frightening speed.

Spinner jumped back. His reflex saved him from the severity of the chain's blow. Several screws from within the mechanism fired out, one or two of which struck Spinner. The rest pierced through the car, hissing as they came to a stop on the seats.

The back left and port windows shattered. The driver's window cracked, imitating the same pattern that it bore from the first attack, including the bullet holes at the height of the driver's head.

Then the rest of the inner wall crashed down on Spinner.


	11. Chapter 11

Jay and Cole dug through the debris to get Spinner.

"Oh shit," he moaned as he looked at the damage to the car.

Spinner stood, took a couple stumbling steps to the car. "Oh, shit."

Kendra, who had heard the crash from the house, dashed in. "What happened?" she barked. "Are you all right?"

"The damn car got smashed!" Spinner shouted. He leaned on the hood, trying to stop his hands from shaking.

He was fixating on the car. The others might question his priorites at the moment, but for Spinner, focusing on the car was the one thing keeping him from falling apart. Otherwise he would be pissing and puking on himself in uncontrollable fear.

"Should we call a tow truck?" Jay asked, his first reflex to joke, to focus on the superficial.

"And get you to the hospital," Kendra said.

"I'm fine," Spinner winced.

"You did get clobbered by a couple hundred pounds of wall," Jay pointed out. "I'll drive you."

"No more than one hundred."

"Cole," Kendra asked, "Are you OK?"

Cole's head shot up, realizing he was expected to answer. "Yeah."

"He didn't get hit," Spinner said, then amended, "I don't think he got hit."

"Spinner, you're bleeding," Kendra pointed out.

Spinner swiped at his cheek. A welt formed below his eye.

"A screw. Or a chain link."

"I'll pull up my car," Jay offered. "It's parked down a way."

"I'm fine," Spinner insisted

"No one was there," Cole explained after Jay left. After they unsuccessfully tried to convince Spinner that he should go get checked up at the ER, Cole and Kendra returned to the kitchen. "But I think someone set up the accident before we went in there. They did something to the bike chain, and probably loosened the nails on the wall panel."

He stopped blabbering and sipped the water as Kendra directed. Kendra traced her finger around the rim of her own glass. The movements of her hand were sharp and agitated.

"This might be related to Spinner's fall in the lake," she said.

Cole had been thinking of the car's smashed windows his first day here. The accident at the lake, he now reasoned, could be connected as well.

Kendra stood. "I have to start calling for repairpersons," she said.

"What about your parents?" Cole asked.

"You're right. I'll have to ask them to transfer money to pay for all this damage."

That struck Cole as strange, that Kendra's parents would expect her and Spinner to pay for the garage. Maybe she just expected, in light of their vague explanation, that they would blame her. Cole could understand why she would not confide to her parents about her unusual trait; they generally discouraged confidences and instead advised their daughter and son to solve their own problems. He was grateful his mother, Lyn Sear, never had that attitude to that extreme. Though, like Kendra and Spinner, Cole was home alone a lot, it was only because of her work and her need to raise money for their ordinary expenses. Lyn always tried to make time for him several times a week, if not every day.

For once, Kendra did not worry about how Cole would interpret her avoiding calling their parents. She had a bigger problem on her hands.

"I think someone's after Spinner," she said.


	12. Chapter 12

Kendra sought Rick in the driveway. He stared at the open garage with his mouth open in a small O.

"Did a meteor hit your garage or something?" he asked as Kendra stepped outside, shutting the door tight behind her.

"I don't think its you," she said shortly, "but I have to rule you out as a suspect."

"A suspect of what?" Rick asked, his good humor rapidly falling away. "Of trashing your garage?"

"And the other accidents."

"What accidents?" Rick boomed. "You mean the car?"

"And Spinner almost drowning in the lake." Jay had given Kendra a more detailed version of that evening.

"You think I am causing the accidents?" Rick closed in on her. He started to grab her arm but Kendra blocked him.

"I said I didn't."

"Then why are you asking?"

Kendra hesitated on answering. "The obvious reason. You have motive."

Rick lowered his arm. He seemed steadier, more able to reign in his anger. He stepped back abashedly.

Kendra had not lashed back at him or tried to put him in his place, which Rick found frightening. She stared wild-eyed at him, not trusting to take her eyes off him.

"Do you swear?" she finally asked, her voice coming out more timid than normal. "Do you swear you had nothing to do any of this?"

"Of course not."

"Say it," Kendra ordered. "Do you swear?"

"Christ, Kendra . . ."

"Don't screw around with me." Kendra reverted to her old bossy self. "Say it. Do you swear you didn't do these thing?"

"Yes. I swear. I swear I didn't cause any accidents."

Kendra relaxed against the door. "Thank you," she said softly.

"Does that mean you believe me?" Rick squeaked out, curiosity getting in the way of common sense.

"That's what it means," she assured him.

Kendra shuffled back inside. The screen door shut, dividing the space between them.

Neither Kendra nor Cole got a chance to speak to Rick for the rest of the day. Spinner made an appearance in the den, ostentably to reassure them he was not suffering any belated injuries from the collapsed wall. The TV was tuned to _Silence of the Lambs_, while FaceEater leaned over the couch to explain the intricacies of each scene.

"Yeah, that's an appropriate viewing choice," Spinner snorted.

"I've seen it before," Cole replied, neglecting to add that all those time were at the Masons' house. FaceEater had a habit of switching the channel to this movie.

Watching movies about cannibals. Slopping cow blood on cars. What kind of upbringing did this kid have in Philadelphia? Spinner detoured to the kitchen to grab a soda then joined his sister and cousin by the TV.

They were not paying much attention to the movie. Kendra had abandoned her class journal and attended to her sketchbook. She hunched suspiciously over her current page.

Spinner never understood why Kendra liked _Silence of the Lambs_ so much; he thought it was boring. All Anthony Hopkins did was natter on about analyzing other people's secrets, which for some insane reason they told him. Then, surprise, he could use them for his own purposes. But movies like this were called psychological thrillers.

The screen centered on Jodie Foster as she confessed her childhood fears.

"Why the hell would she do that?" Spinner asked, breaking Kendra and Cole's studious silence.

"She's bargaining," Kendra mumbled, without much thought. She instantly understood what he referred to. "He's the only one who can lead her to the senator's daughter and the only way he'll cooperate is if she shares something personal with him."

"So she starts off with her most private fear. Why doesn't she make something up?"

"Because he'd know. He's a freaking genius in his field."

"She doesn't even try," Spinner argued in disgust. "She just goes and gives a diabolical killer all that emotional ammo."

"Fool," FaceEater muttered.

Cole spoke up. "Do you want to watch something else?" he asked neutrally.

"It's up to you," Spinner decided. He did not watch much TV, so he was not one to suggest something better.

Kendra rolled her eyes, though the reaction was hidden behind her sketchbook.

The numbers on the clock glowed, reflecting red stripes onto the murky plastic wrap on the pack of wet wipes. Kendra stared at the wet wipes while her hand hovered over the lamp switch.

"Kendra," Rick whispered.

She jumped. Her tense pose had broken.

"What?" she grumbled.

Rick leaned over the edge of the bed. His black T-shirt deepened in the dark room, producing a black blotch on his gray shape. Except for his glasses, his features were indistinguishable.

Kendra switched on the lamp, to even the score, because she was sure he could see her as clearly in the dark as he could during the day. She collapsed back against the wall. She suddenly felt the urge to cover her upper body. All that covered her was a skimpy tank top and pajama pants.

As she was about to drift back into her whirling thoughts, Rick interrupted. "Are you OK?"

"Christ, Rick." She had spoken his name out loud. She had been careful not to do that. The walls in this house were far from soundproof.

Rick lowered into a half stoop. His eyes met hers.

"I know you're worried about Spinner," he said. "You think someone is after him."

"I know someone is after him," Kendra retorted. She sat up, her eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Have you been eavesdropping?"

"You told me I had motive," Rick puffed. "That means motive against Spinner. I have no motive against you or Cole."

"Right," Kendra conceded. She swatted back her hair. She had been trying to grow it out this year, but the progress was slow. At this point, the ends barely brushed her shoulders.

In avoiding Rick's gaze, Kendra focused on her nightstand. The wet wipes were the source of her restlessness. She picked them up and twisted them, as if they were a prism.

Finally she bounced up from her bed. "Meet me by the car," she told Rick, so she could dress in peace.


	13. Chapter 13

They convened in the garage: Kendra bundled in a sweatshirt and jeans, Rick in his usual black shirt and pants. Kendra decided that the lack of windows on the left side of the car was not going to prevent her from driving to the lake. She emptied out the broken glass and climbed in.

Rick's talk was more congenial, less personal. He avoided asking where they were going. After they turned out of the town, the destination was obvious enough.

The lake was silent. The car crunched over the gravel parking area. Kendra extinguished the lights and stumbled out of the car.

"You finding your way OK?" Rick asked.

"Just fine," she said. She made her way to the broken dock without falling over. The legs at the end of the dock had split, so most of it tilted at an alarming angle . Kendra tested her step onto the wood. The structure held firm, but she cautiously remained at the back section.

The wet wipes were stowed in her sweatshirt pocket. She extracted them and threw them into the water.

The diver surfaced. A large splash issued, nearly engulfing the remains of the dock. He stayed in the water, with the oxygen tank bobbing at his side like a grotesque appendage.

"Holy crap!" Rick gasped, aware of the splash that erupted from the lake. "What was that?"

"I don't like garbage in my lake," the diver droned, giving no indication that he recognized Kendra.

"I have some questions," Kendra said. "Did you see what happened the night my brother fell in the lake?"

"All nights are the same here."

"It wasn't that long ago," Kendra pressed. "Part of this dock collapsed."

"I saw that."

"Good." She was pleased they were getting somewhere.

"I think I'm having a heart attack," Rick panted. He thumped the heel of his hand against his chest.

Kendra ignored him. "If you saw the dock collapse, you must have seen someone fall in."

The diver made a slow tread to the side.

"Yes. Someone fell in."

"What happened after?" When the diver did not answer, Kendra tried to prod his memory. "Did he float or sink?"

"He sank. Not very deep; no more than two feet. Then he struggled."

Kendra almost choked on a lump that formed in her throat. Rick ceased complaining about his chest pains.

"He struggled," she echoed.

"He must have gotten snagged on something," the diver reasoned. "I wasn't close enough to see what. But he eventually freed himself."

"You think he was caught on something?"

"He struggled. He was kicking towards the surface, but he wasn't ascending. His movements were frantic. Then suddenly, whatever he was caught on released him and he surfaced."

The diver added solemnly. "Lucky thing. I wouldn't have reached him in time."

A chill overtook Kendra. Because she had to be sure, she asked, "Was anybody else in the water?"

"No," The diver tossed the packet back to Kendra. "Is that all you wanted?"

Kendra nodded. "Thank you."

The diver descended, creating another storm-sized wave. Rick was better prepared for the diver's exit. He crawled out onto the more unstable section of the dock to get a better look at the vortex.

Kendra shambled back to the car. She crawled into the seat but did not yet start up the ignition.

The diver confirmed what she suspected: an unknown dead person was after Spinner.

She thought if she had grilled the diver enough - if she proved the accidents were not accidents - she would accomplish something. In reality, she was no farther on this mission than she had been since that morning.

The possibility of this a dead person pursuing a loved one had occurred to her. Her contingency plan was not well thought out. It dealt with thwarting the attack as it happened - if she happened to be around. A more specific plan depended on the nature and the motive of the attack, neither of which she could possibly foresee.

She did not have the information she needed to formulate a useful plan. She had assumed if such an event arose, the dead person would show up as conspicuously as the regular ghosts she encountered. How could she have guessed that the dead person would catch on to her talent and circumvent it?

"Kendra?" Rick was beside her in the passenger seat. "Are you heading home anytime soon?"

"Sure." Kendra's mouth moved, detached from her thoughts. Her hands remained still on the wheel.

The stony silence crept back into the car. Kendra abandoned the idea of driving home. First she had to figure out what to do.

. Rick rested his hands on the dashboard and aimed his gaze at the dark lake. "Look," he consoled her, "It won't be as bad as that."

Kendra turned her head in disbelief. "How can you say that? Someone wants to kill my brother. And that someone knows to stay out of our sight."

Rick squinted. He deliberated over his next sentence.

"Is it that unusual," he finally asked. "For a ghost to hide from you like that?"

"Yes, it's rare". The percentage of people who could see them while they were in an intelligible state is laughably small. Because ghosts were unable to see each other, that meant they can go years, even centuries, without anyone speaking to them or acknowledging their existence. Add to that the desperate emotions they may harbor at the time of their death and they became downright brazen.

"OK," Rick mused. "What situations would create that a ghost would avoid you rather than seek you out? What would that ghost's personality be? Think."

"You've been watching _Silence of the Lambs_ too much," Kendra said. She had regained her composure, at least.

She drummed her hands on the wheel. "Someone who has retained his self awareness. It's a harder task than it appears, with no one motivating you to check your behavior. So I'd say the person is highly disciplined. Perhaps has had military or some other rigorous training.

"Someone who is goal oriented. He knows he's dead, and he knows what he wants. He'd see someone like me as an obstacle."

"Not that goal oriented," Rick cut in. "If the goal is to kill, instead of malicious pranks, then he's dragging it out. He had the opportunity, but he didn't . . ."

He trailed off. Kendra stared at him again.

"How do you figure that?"

"The drowning episode. Why'd he stop? I doubt Spinner escaped on his own."

"Jay might've distracted him," Kendra said slowly.

"Jay couldn't see him."

"He might not have wanted to take the chance, as he already discovered two mediums here."

"Jay was drinking. He wouldn't have been much of a reliable witness. This ghost pulled Spinner under the water and then released him."

Kendra shrank back against the seat.

"Why?"

"To make him suffer." Rick answered matter of factly.

"Christ," Kendra sighed.. She kicked open the car door and jumped out.

Rick scrambled to the driver's side, suddenly aware of the unflattering interpretation of their discussion. He called, "Where are you going?"

"I need some air," Kendra gasped.

Kendra stomped down the shore. She made her way through a popular campsite and on to the forest that ringed the lake. She listened for soothing laps that any body of water should produce, but was rewarded only with absolute silence. The lake was as still as glass.

Rick chased after her. He had slid through the door without opening or shutting it and approached her soundlessly.

"Kendra," Rick called. He was panting heavily, more out of habit than the need for air.

She stopped, one heel raised.

"It's not how it sounded."

"How did it sound?" she said mechanically.

"Don't play games," Rick retorted. "I was only trying to help."

She was facing away from him. Rick pulled at her arm and swung her around so her eyes met his.

He moved too quickly for her to react to his grab. Ordinarily she would have clocked him for trying such a move, but she was too stunned and too incapacitated. Too many what-ifs jammed in her head, and she could not navigate a clear route through them.

Rick's grip crushed her sleeve tighter to her wrist. His fingers felt steel hard, but the tingle that shot through her arm was soft.

"It wasn't me. I don't know who it was, but it wasn't me. I promised I would not go after your friends and I kept my promise. Now I want you to keep your end of the deal and let me help you."

Rick, noticing he still held her arm, withdrew his hand.

"Why do you want to help?" she asked loudly, trying to dispel the effect of his hand touching her.

"Selfish reasons," Rick answered. His glasses gave a weird glint as he lowered his head. He added hurriedly, "I want to prove it wasn't me. Let's assume that someone else in the world has a reason to carry a grudge against Spinner."

"Like who?" Kendra queried. "You're practically the only dead person Spinner knows."

"Maybe the guy isn't after him in particular, but what he represents?"

"What he represents?"

He imagined she tallied another mark against him. Rick explained, "You told me that sometimes the dead think you're someone else, someone they knew from their life. This attacker could be mixing up Spinner with his target."

When Kendra did not answer, Rick pried further, "It is possible, right?"

"Yes," she said without conviction.

"It wasn't me," Rick repeated. "You believe me, right?"


	14. Chapter 14

The alarm clock in the other room buzzed. By the time Cole roused to full wakefulness, it was shut off.

Cole automatically checked his watch. He was sure it was much earlier than when Spinner usually set his alarm, as it had shrilled much more insistently than it had the past few mornings. The numbers on his watch read five o' clock.

Spinner shuffled down the hallway. Cole heard him clomp down the stairs, then the back door slammed.

Cole slid out of bed, exercising silent movements though he had no reason to believe he would be heard. He was curious about the strange departure of Spinner's routine, but ferreting out the cause should not take too long, so he left his shoes in his room. He crept down to the back door that Spinner had just exited and peered out the storm window.

Spinner paced the back yard. It was immediately apparent that the older boy was on the phone. That should have settled the matter, but Cole did not yet go back to his room. He lingered by the door, trying to catch some of the conversation.

" . . . Yeah, it's all fixed," Spinner said hastily. " . . . Not much. Working . . . I bet . . . How's it going? . . . Saturday, huh?"

The pauses were somewhat longer here. Then Spinner assured, "Don't worry. It'll go fine . . . You've prepared for this for ages. You'll be great . . . I'll be there at six . . . Trust me, everything will go fine . . .

Spinner wandered out of hearing range.

Cole headed back upstairs before he got caught.

Kendra arrived home from her night jaunt soon afterwards, and Cole did not tell her about the phone call he had eavesdropped on. The call seemed ordinary enough: personal, but no cause for concern.

Kendra kept strangely silent on her own errand. She trudged through making breakfast for them. While she absently forked through her waffles, Spinner bounded down, demonstrating more energy that Cole had seen all week.

"Did they pick up the car yet?" he asked.

"Yes."

Spinner rummaged through the refrigerator for the milk carton, then snatched a plate and a fork from the dishwasher. He hauled them to the table and perched across from them at the table.

"I see your concussion put you in a good mood," Kendra said sullenly.

Her viperous tone left Spinner undeterred. "What are you talking about? I'm the same charming guy I always was." He reached across the table and scooped a waffle from his sister's plate.

"Yeah, charming."

Cole, who had patched up more arguments this week than any other time in his life, interrupted. "Let's not fight about this right now, OK?"

Spinner snorted, though he had the presence of mind to plant his hand in front of his mouth. "This isn't fighting," he assured Cole.

"No," Kendra agreed, hiding her slight amusement. 'Only child,' she mouthed to Spinner.

"Lucky him." When Kendra did not react, Spinner asked, "What got into you?"

"Nothing." Kendra sought a quick explanation. "My stupid poetry assignment."

Cole recognized that was not the real reason, and he was sure Spinner did too. Nevertheless, Spinner advised, "Why don't you just drop the class?"

"I might," Kendra replied flatly.


	15. Chapter 15

One uneventful day blended into the next, and so on. The car windows were repaired - again - and the rest of the week became one numbing routine. Spinner went to work, Kendra coasted obliviously through her poetry class, and Cole arbitrated between Finn and Atlas Boy at the library. Kendra kept on the lookout for more stealth attacks, but after several days passed without incident, she began to wonder if the threat was all her imagination.

Rick had avoided her since that ugly confrontation at the lake. Sometimes, when she was alone in her room, she felt a presence glowering at her, but she never saw anything so that may have been her imagination as well.

She had almost given up her watchful vigil the day she and Cole stopped over at the cafe where Spinner worked.

"I'm working," Spinner told them, not hiding that trace of annoyance. His ebullient mood from several mornings ago had not lasted long, though it had briefly emerged Saturday night. Those peaks of happiness only emphasized how dreary and sullen he was the rest of the time.

"I can see that," Kendra said casually. Her primary purpose of this visit was to antagonize her sibling, which she had neglected for long enough. Cole, sitting across from her at the booth, grinned sheepishly.

"It was her idea," he apologized. Kendra shot him a cross look.

Spinner did not care whose idea it was. "Unless you're going to order, you have to leave," he said humorlessly.

"I'll have a banana smoothie," Kendra decided quickly.

If Spinner had not been so sleep deprived lately, he would have seen that coming.

"Do you have blueberry?" Cole chimed in, as there were no menus at their table.

Spinner jotted down their orders (it was the rules) and hobbled behind the counter.

At least they hadn't ordered anything hot. Spinner had come to dread fetching the coffee or decaf after that pot exploded. Someone had set the temperature too high. Everyone thought Spinner had done it and forgot, hence his having to pay for the damage out his own pocket. There seemed to be a malicious pattern to these things: the coffee pot, the smashed car, the near drowning, the collapsed wall.

He supposed his new isolation was making him paranoid.

He prepared the drinks without mishap, then ferried them to the table.

"You'd better have lots of spare cash for the tip," he joked.

"Don't be crass," Kendra said, in an eerie imitation of their mother's officious tone.

Spinner had other customers to attend to. The next four tables wanted coffee. Like a superstitious ritualist, he checked the settings on the hot plate each time before he touched the pot handle.

_Paranoid_.

No one complained about his slow pace, at least not to his face. Spinner took advantage of an unauthorized break. He surveyed the room. Kendra and Cole were behaving themselves, as they passed a piece of paper back and forth. A game, he guessed. Hangman or something. At several tables away, JT York and Liberty Van Zandt split a pastry. The first time they had been in here since last fall, they bore watching. If anybody was behind any pranks against him, JT would be a top candidate as suspect.

Then Emma Nelson stormed into the building.

"How could you? How could you?" she shrieked.

Though she stepped right in front of him, it took Spinner several seconds to realize she was shouting at him.

"How could I what?"

"Don't play dumb. You think I wouldn't figure out it was your dumb joke? Your phone number was on my screen."

Emma's eyes blazed. Spinner barely recognized her through this mask of fury. Her face had turned a blotchy red and her lips stiffened into a clayey hardness. Anyone who looked at her might have guessed that a full-blown virus had wreaked her body.

"Emma," Spinner said slowly, thinking if she too talked slowly, he could make sense of what she was saying. "What are you talking about?"

"That call you made. How could you do something so vile and disgusting?"

"I didn't call you."

Emma snatched the phone off his belt. She opened it and punched through to his call history.

She shoved the screen in his face. "It's right here! That's the time I got it! That sick voice saying 'You're boyfriend's dead' over and over. There are laws against this, Spinner."

"I . . . what?" The noise of the cafe drifted away from him as the patrons watched them curiously. Kendra craned her neck to them, not bothering to hide the fact she was listening intently. Cole stared down at his smoothie, but Spinner was sure he absorbed every word.

Emma slammed the phone on the counter. "You try that again and I'll have the police on your ass so fast you'll regret ever being born." She flipped around and stomped out.

Spinner remained frozen in his spot, staring at the phone's screen in total bewilderment.

When Toby Isaacs arrived at Liberty's backyard, no one was in the pool. Emma trembled on the chaise lounge. Manny sat more languorously beside her, looking far too exhausted for swimming. Liberty and JT were tangled together at the poolside. Unlike Emma and Manny, they were stripped down to their swimsuits. The water glimmered invitingly, but Toby dutifully ignored it for now.

"What happened?" he asked, breaking the stiff silence.

After a pause where they seemed to delegate who would give voice to the news, Liberty spoke. "Emma got a disturbing phone call."

Toby sank down in a patio chair. No one added any details, so he guessed, "Was it the media?" he asked, remembering how some of the national networks hounded Emma after Rick died.

"It was Spinner," Emma spat out. She kicked out of her huddle, nearly knocking into Manny's legs.

Manny explained, "He disguised his voice but his number was on the ID."

"What did he say?" Toby asked. He could not fathom that anything Spinner would say would make Emma this upset.

Emma held up her phone, and he reluctantly took it. She had highlighted the message. He played it.

At first, the voice could not be heard over the low hum that registered in the background. Then the volume rose. A hoarse whisper started. "Your boyfriend's dead. Your boyfriend's dead. Your boyfriend's dead . . ." It continued on, each repeated phrase in the same precise monotone. Toby thought he should listen to whole message, out of thoroughness, but it gave no indication of ever ending, even after the time limit should have cut it off.

The speaker of the message sounded truly disturbed.

Toby handed back the phone. "That's weird," he understated. Emma grimly pressed her lips together and nodded in agreement. "I don't get it, though. That didn't sound like Spinner. Why would he . . ."

JT groaned. "You're just saying that because you're still mooning over Kendra."

"We're just friends," Toby mumbled.

"She doesn't act like a friend," Emma said snippedly. Toby clamped his jaw shut, not wanting to argue with Emma.

"He must have used a voice synthesizer," Liberty reasoned. "Like in that horror movie."

Emma shuddered at the comparison.

"It's a just prank," Manny said witheringly. She shot Liberty a warning look. "Spinner always had a bad taste of humor."

"That didn't sound like just a prank," JT muttered.

More questions gushed through Toby's mind. "Who did he mean when he said your boyfriend's dead? Who's the boyfriend?" Though Emma might not appreciate it, Toby had to keep dissecting the call.

"Who knows?" JT countered. "Nobody, I bet. He probably was drunk."

That routed Toby back to the "that didn't sound like Spinner" observation. He restrained himself from saying so aloud: they would accuse him of sticking to that theory because of Kendra.

It was apparent that Toby was the only one who had doubts of the caller's identity. He knew it was not just for Kendra's sake, as JT implied (or outright announced.) The voice on the phone carried an unearthly quality that even a synthesizer could not produce. The rhythm, the unvarying monotone, the hum in the background: all of it was too odd to be produced by a human being, much less anyone he knew.

"Kendra already knows," Liberty later shared, reading into the source of his disbelieving expression. "She was at the cafe when Emma confronted him."

Emma and Manny had left, after joining the others for an unenthusiastic swim. JT and Liberty, on the other hand, seemed to have put Spinner's alleged prank out of their mind.

JT climbed up to diving platform and prepared to do another cannonball, during which Liberty slipped him that bit of information. She treaded away, so her boyfriend would not learn that she was enabling Toby's renewed fascination with Kendra.

Toby left soon afterward, knowing that Liberty and JT would appreciate some alone time before the Van Zandts arrived home. He had stashed his trunks and swimming goggles in his tote bag, so he was presentably dry, and if he walked a couple of blocks out of the way, he would pass right by the Masons' house.


	16. Chapter 16

"What are you doing here?" Kendra asked warily, when she opened the door and discovered Toby on the steps.

Toby was not so optimistic that he expected an effusively warm welcome.

"I heard about the phone call." _ So much for coming up with a smoother pretext_. "And . . . and I thought you could use some company."

Kendra was silent, clasping at the doorjamb. She tried to think of a good excuse to close the door on him.

Against all wise judgment, she stepped back into the foyer, allowing him to enter.

"Cole and I are playing video games," she stated. "You can join us if you want."

She led him to the living room. The console, an ancient Sega Genesis, appended to the television set. Cole sat cross-legged on the floor, his elbows jammed against his bare knees as he poised over his controller. Carolee (Knife Girl), seated behind him on the couch, wrapped her bony arms around a pillow.

Kendra briefly introduced Cole to Toby, but it was Carolee who exhibited raw curiosity.

"Is that your boyfriend?" Carolee asked, her accent adding a singsong variation to her question.

"No," Kendra corrected her. She spoke softly. Toby heard her anyway.

"We only have two controllers," she hurried to explain, though Toby already knew that from his previous visits. "So we'll have to take turns." Meanwhile Carolee grinned that same scheming grin that Kendra used to see on Manny and Emma whenever Toby's name came up.

"That's fine," Toby said. It had been a while since he had been at her house.

"I fell," Cole announced with an overly dismal tone. His cartoonish character had to traverse a high cliff by balancing on a large bubble, and the character had teetered off. He landed by Kendra's character at the bottom of the canyon. Falling long distances did not eat into the lifeline in this game.

"You got to the Bubble Round?" Toby said. "Is it all right if I . . .?"

Kendra handed him her controller. Toby seated himself next to Cole. His fingers sprang into action, routing the character to the lowest overhang. He mounted the bubble and rode the bubble to the first rest stop.

"What's the trick?" Cole asked, intently studying the screen as the creature wobbled through the next segment.

"Practice," Toby said. He shrugged. "Sorry, there's no foolproof shortcut. It's not hard to master, just chancy."

The game level was meant to be time consuming, with villains popping up to further challenge the player's concentration. Toby's memory of the obstacles was not that fresh, Kendra quickly saw, but she restrained her impulse to intervene.

She clocked the laborious trek through the level at thirty-one minutes. After that, they only had to strut to the end zone.

A telephone bleeped. Both Kendra and Toby jumped.

Cole retained the presence of mind to actually check the caller ID. "It's my mom," he said, before ambling to the kitchen.

_Thanks a lot_, Kendra thought, undecided on whether she should be furious or relieved their power did not extend to mental telepathy.

Carolee stayed, riveted to the impending drama.

Kendra waited for Toby to break the awkward silence. Toby was the uninvited guest, so he could choose the next topic to entertain them.

"About the phone call . . " Toby brought up. He hesitated, but Kendra did not get angry. She guessed that it would either be this or resurrecting their old issues.

"I don't think it was Spinner," Toby blurted.

"No shit," Kendra murmured. That caused Carolee to giggle. Kendra raised her eyebrow at the young woman. She did not see why she had to pretend it was a surprise.

"Look," Toby said more boldly, "don't blame Emma for getting upset. The phone call was creepy. If Spinner did make the call, she has every right to be upset."

"Emma said it was his number," Kendra said, her face empty of expression.

"You ever heard of hijacking phone numbers?" he argued. "Someone could have hijacked the number and routed the call through his cell. It's not hard to do. But then it wouldn't have appeared in the call history. Maybe it could, but it usually doesn't, because that would tip you off."

Kendra turned on her doubtful glare.

"The other explanation is that hijacker did it the old fashioned way: he grabbed the phone when Spinner wasn't looking and placed the call then." Toby paused, realizing the second option implicated people in Degrassi. Possibly it implicated his friends.

"Either way, it wasn't random," Kendra reminded him.

"Well, no. The caller had specifically targeted Emma. I'm sure of that."

"Right," Kendra said veiledly. She had been referring to Spinner as the target. She did not want to confide in Toby about the accidents. He could be partly right, anyhow. Spinner may not be the only one the dead person has set his sights on.

Toby spoke up thoughtfully, "I have some ideas of who might try this stuff on Emma. It might be that the caller meant to sting Spinner as well. What do you think? Is there anyone who'd do that to him?"

Kendra straightened her mouth, restraining a snarky answer at his loaded question. Once she had mastered her serious stance, she carefully answered, "I don't know. Things are different now," (in case he needed the reminder that Spinner was on the outs with nearly everyone in Degrassi) "but I don't think any of his former friends would bother with this. And they certainly wouldn't drag Emma into this."

This way she was able to persuade Toby not to waste time suspecting his friends, or Spinner's former friends. All of them were accounted for - that is, all of them were still alive.

"Who are the people you were thinking of investigating?" she asked casually.

Toby reddened. "You don't know him. Just a guy Emma met once. He does know about hacking so he's a good suspect. And - though I know this sounds crazy - Principal Raditch."

"Raditch?" Principal Raditch was fired last year when the board learned that he rebuffed Rick when Rick came to his office asking for help with some bullies. The school hurried to replace him once they discovered that Raditch could well have contributed to the environment that could have forced Rick to respond by shooting his classmates.

"Well he never was a fan of Emma's. He might, in some convoluted way, blame Emma for his getting fired. Mr. Simpson made the complaint against him. And because Rick had something of a crush on her. " Toby stammered.

"I know." That fact was painfully obvious that last year.

"He doesn't fit the caller's behavior as well as the first guy," Toby assured her, "but I should check them both out." He stood up and headed towards the front door. He had some hacking to do.

He paused long enough to warn, "Manny thinks the call was a prank, but it wasn't. Whoever made that call sounds dangerous."


	17. Chapter 17

Cole waited in the kitchen until Toby left, not wanting to interrupt the rather civilized discussion they were having. Carolee, visibly disappointed in the results, reentered.

"I'm lost," she said.

Kendra narrowed her eyes at the woman, more from confusion than indignation.

"I don't know how I got here," Carolee added.

"You died." Kendra was blunt, but not cruel.

"I know that, but I was in Johannesburg. How did I get here? In Canada? I was never here before. I don't know anybody here. I want to go home."

She collapsed back on the couch.

"Do you want to fly back to South Africa?" Kendra asked.

"I can't," Carolee mumbled into her pillow.

"We could just go to the airport and . . ."

"I can't. I tried. I can't." The sobs began again.

Cole had entered Carolee's name in Google and was sifting through the results.

"I need to find out why Carolee is afraid to go home," he told Rick. Contrary to what Kendra might think, Rick had not disappeared entirely; he was willing to pop up when he was sure only Cole would be present.

"I thought she wanted to go home," Rick repeated what little he managed to overhear.

"She does," Cole answered with straight sensibility. "But she's afraid to."

A blurb was all the death of Carolee Duke warranted. She had lived in an impovershed slum of Johannesburg, where gang violence was a daily occurence. She was twenty-two and married, but her husband worked nights. He and Kendra had extracted from Carolee that she brought a knife with her to bed every night, in case her home was invaded.

The details of her death had not captured much interest in the newspaper staff, as the all around assumption was that a local gang had perpetrated the death. The police had not considered the husband to be a suspect, but that rarely ruled out the possibility in Cole's cases. He obtained nothing that hinted whether Carolee's fear stemmed from more than trauma of her violent death.

Now that that business was finished, Cole turned to Rick. "How long are you going to be avoiding her?"

Rick noisily rifled through his magazine. "That's her decision."

They would get nowhere until Cole said the obvious. "Spinner was one of the bullies."

Rick threw down the magazine. He could not focus on it anyway.

"No comment."

"And Emma was the girl you aimed the gun at."

"No comment."

"You can talk about it, at least," Cole insisted. "You're not going to get anywhere if you don't."

"Bring that up with your cousin," Rick retorted sharply. "She's the one who thinks I have some death vendetta against Spinner."

Kendra's thoughts remained undecipherable: whether she truly believed Rick would lash out at his former enemies or she was merely being cautious. Neither belief came without cause. In Cole's own opinion, Rick might harm someone in a flash of temper, which was enough to instate the rule to avoid the people who bullied or spurned him, but the methodical, drawn-out phantom attacks on Spinner and Emma were uncharacteristic of him.

Toby arrived early the next morning.

"Is the coast clear?" he asked, craning his neck to the foyer.

"Yes." Kendra eased open the door. Toby crept in, concealing his folder under his arm. Ordinarily Kendra would have found his spy act outrageous, but today she barely noticed it. She merely followed him to the living room couch.

Cole joined them, kneeling at the end of the coffee table. Toby took the couch and plopped the folder on the table. He hesitated at Cole's presence, but Kendra nodded her permission to include him.

"I found nothing that ruled out Raditch," Toby said. Aside from his animosity with Emma, he was a weak suspect. "The . . . the other guy, he's where he's supposed to be."

"Is he alive?" Kendra blurted.

Cole stared, surprised at Kendra's lack of candor. Toby merely looked confused.

"Yes," Toby answered. "But it's unlikely he's the guy."

He did not explain further, nor did Kendra expect him to. _You see what I did there Toby?_ she thought. _When you implied a subject was off limits, I backed off. It's a little something called minding my own business. _ She trusted that Toby refused to divulge the details, as it was Emma's business, not his. Another reason not to badger him for it. Kendra did not need to know more anyway. The guy was alive, so it was not him.

"What about other suspects?" Toby asked.

Kendra's mind was utterly frozen. The question of suspects branched into two different directions. Toby was searching for computer savvy but otherwise entirely human culprits. Kendra was tempted to convince him to stop wasting his time and look elsewhere. But such a declaration was no easier than it was a year ago when they were dating.

"Maybe its connected to that person Spinner keeps calling," Cole said suddenly.

"What?" Kendra started.

Cole still had doubts about relaying the phone calls (there had since been several more) he had overheard. There was nothing overtly strange or sinister about the early morning phone conversations. His clumsy description raised suspicion, more suspicion than Cole thought it was worth.

He amended, "I mean sometimes in the morning he talks to someone on his phone. It's nothing like what Emma heard, it's just normal friendly talk."

Kendra had never heard of these clandestine phone calls.

Toby, keeping a temperate view, asked, "So you think the phone pal could be a suspect?"

"I don't know." Cole could not access enough clues through overhearing one-sided conversations.

Kendra's neck felt hot and prickly. Suppose Emma's prankster was calling Spinner. Suppose the dead person was talking to Spinner on the phone. What could he possibly say to Spinner that Spinner listened to it morning after morning?

"Well that's easy enough to check out," Toby said. He started to stand. "We can just look at his phone."

"He threw it out," Kendra said.

Toby sank back on the couch. "That wasn't wise."

"I prepared for that." The last thing Spinner was thinking was that discarding the phone might make him appear guiltier. That was why Kendra salvaged the phone and stashed it in a secure place. "I'll get it."

Only when she retrieved the phone, she discovered all the memory had been erased.


	18. Chapter 18

Manny had sent tickets for Gill Magills Kids' Hour, the show for which JT York interned. The date for the invitation arrived.

Cole had seen a TV studio before: his classmate Tommy Tammisimo had once invited his class to a sitcom episode where he had been an extra. This tour should carry out more smoothly without his spoiled classmate's grand displays of exaggerated power.

The studio appeared no different from the site of that field trip. A brightly lit stage was furnished with a table at one end, laden with an assortment of markers and stacks of card paper. Spools of wire glistened on the short counter behind the table.

The first people they ran into were Joey and Craig and Angie. Before Craig could pull her back, Angie dashed over to them, waving wildly in greeting.

"Hi Kendra. Hi Cole. Daddy says I can take gym-nastics next year. So I can do flips and stuff. Do you know how to do gym-nastics? Manny does gym-nastics. Manny was Craig's girlfriend, did you know that?"

She chattered unceasingly while Joey caught up to her. Craig followed behind him, openly fuming.

"You shouldn't run off like that, Angie," Joey warned , but Angie barely listened, enrapt as she was in gaining Cole's attention.

Kendra broke in with a brief introduction.

"Nice to meet you, Cole," Joey greeted.

"Hello."

"So how are things this summer?" Joey asked "Any more problems with the car?"

"Everything's fine," Kendra said. Her casual tone earned her another suspicious look from Craig.

Craig interrupted, "The taping's going to start soon."

Joey glanced towards the stage. The crew had combined a couple more tables to form a large U. "I guess it is."

"Can Cole come?" Angie asked.

Joey opened his mouth, but Craig spoke first. "They have general tickets. They're sitting in a different area. Kendra wants to sit with Toby anyway."

He started to escort Angie away. Joey said, "We can talk after the show, if you want."

Telling Joey his fawning concern was not necessary might get construed as rude, so Kendra did nothing that promised or rejected meeting again. With luck, she and Cole would be able to escape before Angie ambushed them on the way out.

"I didn't know Joey was Craig and Angie's father," Cole commented, to interrupt another awkward moment. He had met Joey when he dropped off the car after the second smashup.

"Hmm." Kendra lost interest and surveyed the seating area for any other surprise encounters with old friends.

A group of children emerged from the dressing room to the set. Most of them flitted on to the storytime rug, climbing over the giant stuffed animals or bean bag chairs. Two adult chaperones mounted the stage to quiet the kids.

While everyone focused on the rowdy group, another boy, somewhat older than the child extras, sneaked to the shadowed half of the stage. The boy removed a pair of needle nosed pliers and snipped off a length of wire. He stuffed the illicit find in his pocket.

Atlas Boy.

Atlas Boy dismounted the platform. He stopped short when he saw Cole.

"What are you doing here?"

Next to Cole, Kendra whirled around.

"Rees," Cole greeted, glad he could recall Atlas Boy's name. "From the library," he mentioned for Kendra's sake. "This is my cousin. Kendra."

"Hi." Rather than hover around, Kendra said, "I'm going to find some seats," and climbed up the aisle. Toby and Manny were sitting in the back of the auditorium. Toby immediately spotted her and waved her over.

"What are you doing here?" Atlas Boy repeated.

"I was invited." Cole did not go into particulars.

"Let me guess. It was your parents' idea," Atlas Boy observed, his face inscrutable.

"My cousin's."

"Oh, right, you're a tourist. So instead of taking you someplace cool, they drag you here."

"She, and my aunt, think I should have a chance to get together with people my age," Cole explained.

"Lame."

Cole was not about to echo Atlas Boy's sentiment. While going to a kids' show did not hold much interest for him, Kendra was trying to find things that he would like to do. Even though she was likely to encounter some of her hostile classmates.

He turned the inquiry back on Atlas Boy. "What about you? What are you doing here?"

"My dad dropped me off," Atlas Boy answered. He had seemed to mock that excuse earlier. Cole guessed it was true in the other boy's case, but he was afraid he would not be believed. "I'm plundering for supplies."

"Oh," Cole grunted, aware that he was not on solid enough terms to openly disapprove.

"I bet there's more stuff upstairs," Atlas Boy offered. "Wanna go see?"

"Can you get upstairs?" Cole asked. "Isn't it locked?"

"We'll find out. Come on."

Atlas Boy shuffled to a door that led to the stairwell. He nudged it open. After he was sure no alarm set off squealing, Cole dared to follow.

They crept up the stairs and entered a short hallway. The bathrooms glowed, pronouncing themselves available for guests (which explained why the stairs were not alarmed.) Other doors indicated a prop room, a couple of small offices, a utilitarian closet, and, at the end of the hall, a freight elevator.

Atlas Boy roved to the prop room door and twisted the knob. The door yielded easily. "Score," Atlas Boy whispered.

A dusty haze lingered over them. Two wide aisles predominated the room. Wall-to-wall shelves and clothing racks bordered the sides, while furniture and large toys piled at the center. Many of the items were antique - a couple of television and VCR sets, a spinning wheel (a fake one), a lemonade stand, a Radio Flyer wagon, a couple of tricycles, and several wooden puppet theaters.

Atlas Boy rifled through the nearest shelves. "This is all dolls," he said in disgust, then dashed to the next set. "Hey look at this."

A small pile of puppets piled on the floor. Their papier-mache heads were all bashed in.

"What did that?" Cole asked, while he surreptitiously searched the room. He did not see anyone, did not hear any sounds that would give away a dead person's presence. Atlas Boy did not seem to find the broken puppets that noteworthy. He moved on to rummage through the bins of art supplies.

Curiosity got the better of Cole and he, too, began searching through the shelves (though he planned on leaving everything where he found it). While the puppets had creeped him out, he had not seen any sign that they were in immediate danger. For all he knew, those dolls could have been mutilated days ago. He crouched and examined the stacks of jigsaw puzzles and board games on the bottom shelves.

The clothing racks from across the room rustled. Cole swiveled his head to them. He was still keeping his wild reactions in check. Atlas Boy did not seem to hear anything.

The rack shook more persistently. The metal bars clanged against the shelves, which caught Atlas Boy's attention. The costumes swayed back and forth; some of the hangers knocked off the rail. Footsteps sounded simultaneously. They came from the direction of the door. Each step echoed distinctly with the sharp slap of a foot over tile.

"I think someone's coming," Atlas Boy said, more concerned with the person outside than the mysterious shaking of the costume rack, which had fallen still. "Come on," he motioned.

The boys ducked behind a puppet stage. They watched the door. Cole tried to quell his panic. The steps on the other side of the door belonged to a studio employee who was dropping off or fetching some piece. The employee would be in and out without ever noticing that they were in there. Worst case scenario: they would get caught trespassing and get kicked out of the studio.

The clothing rack shook again. The fabric parted and a tricycle rolled out in front of them, with large clown marionette positioned on the seat. The marionette's spindly arms draped over the handlebars; its head was twisted so it looked straight at the puppet theater where Cole and Atlas Boy were hiding.

Cole noticed the prop door room was open.

The intruder moved through the aisle. The footsteps, though less distinct on the linoleum floor, grew louder. They veered to the clothing rack. A soft rustle sounded as the intruder brushed a hand over a beaded gown.

The sound of cloth tearing accompanied rattling metal, and a girl screamed, "Letgoletgoletgoletgo!"

Cole stood. He recognized Angie's voice.

Angie was yanked towards the clothes rack, about to disappear behind the curtain of fabrics. The intruder had grasped her by her arm and her hair. She fell on her knees, her legs scrabbling uselessly against the floor

"Letgoletgoletgoletgo!"

Cole reached the rack. If he tried to pull Angie out of the rack, he could risk hurting her. So he shoved apart the costumes. The intruder released Angie and retreated before Cole could catch sight of him.

Angie grasped Cole's legs, sobbing into his shoes. Cole backed from the rack and sank to the floor.

"Are you OK?" he asked her.

"I hurt my hand," Angie cried. She showed him a brutal scrape on the heel, with loose skin hanging off.

"Holy shit!" Atlas Boy echoed, as he joined them by the rack. He searched thoroughly along behind the costumes.

After a couple of minutes, Atlas Boy gave up the search. "Nobody left the room," he exclaimed. "How did he get out?"

Angie still clutched at Cole when he and Atlas Boy led her back downstairs. Joey Jeremiah and Craig were waiting outside the studio. So were Kendra and Toby and Louie and Caitlin Ryan, one of the executive producers of the show.

"She fell and scraped her hand," Cole explained. That much was true.

"Angie," Joey bent over and hugged her tightly. Angie said nothing. Her eyes shone as more tears pooled in her eyes.

"And where were you two?" Craig asked, shooting an appalled look at Kendra for not taking charge of them.

"The bathroom," Cole said.

Caitlin patted Angie's shoulder. "How about we find you a pretty Band-Aid, honey?"

Angie nodded. She and Joey trailed after her to the employee's lounge to clean and cover the scrape.

"I want your cousin and his friend to stay away from Angie," Craig ordered.

"You can't possibly think -," Kendra shot back in defense but Craig had already stormed away from them.

"I think you kids should stay in the auditorium for the rest of the show," Louie suggested.

"This is bull," Atlas Boy protested. "We didn't do anything."

Louie motioned for him to quiet down. "There's been enough excitement today."

"Come on," Toby said, as he headed back to the auditorium. Kendra and Cole followed silently, while Atlas Boy grumbled all the way back to the seats.


	19. Chapter 19

It was not as difficult to convince Kendra or Toby of his innocence. After Atlas Boy left (his father having picked him up at the scheduled time), the teenagers took him to Burger King. Cole confessed to them, and to Manny, that they had been in the prop room.

Manny finished the story, "Oh I bet she followed you in there. It's obvious Angie has a wild crush on you."

Cole nearly choked on a swallow of soda.

"Manny," Kendra scolded, as Cole's coughing subsided. "She's six."

"Girls start thinking about this stuff a lot sooner than guys," Manny explained. "And two years is not that big a difference. I mean, it won't be in the future." All that she accomplished was to make Cole turn pinker.

Toby ground his fries into his ketchup. "The prop door is usually kept locked."

"It wasn't," Cole confirmed.

"Not this time," Toby said emphatically. "This is unusual. If someone else was in the prop room, he might have kept the door unlocked so he wouldn't get trapped in."

Cole might have noticed that the unlocked prop door signaled someone else had gotten in, except that a locked door would have made no difference to a dead person, and the studio seemed lax with security.

"You'll have to report it," Manny said. "If someone dangerous was lurking around the studio-"

"They might not believe us," Cole said, remembering Craig's skepticism. "If Angie wants to tell them what happened, I'll back her up. Besides I didn't see anyone."

He looked at Kendra when he said this, and Kendra received the message. A pessimistic expression crossed her face.

"We'll wait a day or two until Angie is calm enough to talk," Kendra decided aloud. "She'll be able to give them more information."

"I don't know. We can't really wait around with this situation," Manny hedged. "Suppose the intruder tries to abduct another girl."

"She's right, Kendra," Toby said. "It's too dangerous to not let the studio know."

_Oh, you have no idea how dangerous it is_, Kendra fumed. Thing is, they're not going to find anybody.

"OK," Kendra acceded. "We'll go back to the studio."

Louie and Caitlin listened seriously to Cole's abridged account of the intruder. They had sneaked into the prop room, he readily admitted. They had heard footsteps and hid, thinking it was one of the assistants or the custodian. It turned out to be Angie. Then she fell and started screaming for someone to let go. By the time he and Atlas Boy got to rack, to try and help her, the intruder had released her and escaped. Cole never saw the person who grabbed her; he doubted Altas Boy did either.

It was uncomfortable, pinning the actions of a dead person on those of an (unnamed) living person. Cole was not entirely sure why he agreed to talk about the lurker in the prop room; like Kendra, he concluded that the studio owners would never find anything. He mostly wanted to prove that he and Atlas Boy were not responsible for Angie's attack. Technically his coming clean about their entering the prop room would not prove anything, and while Angie would corroborate their innocence, some adults might believe she lied because they scared her. Cole could usually ignore people's mistaken accusations, but that anybody thought he would attack a six-year-old girl left a bad taste in his mouth.

Kendra glared at the prop room. Another unseen dead person. This pattern was escalating at an alarming rate. The question was why would the person who tried to drown Spinner and trashed his car go after Angie?

No, she corrected herself, Angie just got in the way. The dead person was following Cole.

"Shit."

She was unaware that she had spoken aloud, until Toby, who was also studying the prop room door from afar, stood up.

"Manny, could you wait for Cole?" he asked firmly. "Kendra and I are going to talk."

"OK," Manny agreed. For once she did not treat Kendra to a mischievous smile. The serious reason for their meeting alone was transparent.

Kendra hauled herself up from the floor. She followed Toby to the stairwell.

"What is going on?" Toby demanded.

Kendra tensed. "Excuse me?"

Toby sensed he might have come on too strongly. "With you and Cole. And Spinner. It's like you keep running into these weird situations. Are you in trouble or something?"

"You're overreacting," she replied. "Angie's scare has nothing to do with Cole."

"I hope not," Toby said. "But I'm beginning to think otherwise. Like I'm beginning to think that that phone call was more about Spinner than Emma."

"No, it's about some asswad who thought it'd be funny to threaten Emma and chose Spinner as a convenient scapegoat."

"I'm not blaming -" Toby struggled to lower his voice. "Kendra, I don't want to fight. I want to help."

Almost an exact echo of Rick's words that last night. _I want to help._ She believed he was telling the truth when he insisted he had nothing to do with the attacks on Spinner. She believed he put aside any resentful feelings he might still harbor towards his former bully. She believed him. That should have been enough. But she could not accept that she believed him.

Rick had screwed with her judgment. He had not meant to, but could she just take the word of a guy who beat up his girlfriend? A guy who planned to shoot and kill his classmates? She was supposed to make him face the consequences of his death, not buddy up with him or rely on him to solve her problems.

Kendra reminded herself why she went through great effort to avoid Toby and his ilk. She did not want to hear about whether Rick was a bad guy or not. Her job was to keep her objective distance. She was not a judge. She led them to where they needed to go, and whatever happened to them afterward was not her decision.

"There's nothing to help with," Kendra told him. She was not lying, she repeated to herself. What was Toby supposed to help with, anyway? Battling people he could not see and would not believe existed? He would think Kendra lost her mind.

Spinner dragged himself upstairs. It was another long, mind-numbing day at work. He showered quickly but was too pent up to go to bed, though his tired muscles begged for sleep.

He plopped in front of the computer. Cole had left it on. He was as bad as Kendra, who constantly left TVs blaring, lights blazing, and alarms screaming. Fanatically orderly with the rest of her life, but she could not remember to take the bread out of the toaster before she left the house.

He exited the news page (the headline proclaiming a memorial for a shooting east of Vancouver. Fantastic) and opened his email. A new message popped up from **Walkingisanart**.

Everything went well. Thanx for your help.

He read on, grateful for something that would redirect his mind to something he could do.

A door slammed downstairs.

Spinner closed the email. He flipped to his music screen, but before playing anything, he listened for hints of whoever had arrived home. Kendra and Cole were expected around this time, however his parents stopped in at unpredictable intervals. Spinner hoped to avoid the latter, but at least they would not seek him out as long as he stayed out of their way.

The incomer was too quiet. The only noise Spinner could make out was slow heavy footsteps. They could not belong to anyone in the house. Kendra and his parents had quick paces; no time to waste walking from room to room. Cole's were not as quick, but there was no way those heavy trods could be produced by the slight eight-year-old.

The steps clomped upstairs. They stopped just outside the guest room. The incomer presumably hid behind the doorjamb, because no one appeared.

"Who's there?" Spinner asked. It felt ridiculous keeping silent when the lingering individual had to have seen him in this room.

The person did not answer.

"Hello?" Spinner spoke louder, in case the lurker had not heard him. "Who's out there?"

A tense silence reigned.

The footsteps started again, crossing right by the door. Spinner had his eyes trained on the door, but somehow the visitor had maneuvered past without being seen.

They stopped at his room down the hall.

"Hey!" Spinner sprang out of his chair. Before he reached the door, the person hurried back across the hall and down the stairs, slipping out of sight.

Spinner chased him to the top of the steps. As he started down, his foot connected with a plastic case. He flailed forward, but was unable to catch the bannister. His head whacked against the rail and he skidded down the stairs before landing in a heap on the floor.

A sharp pain split through his head. Spinner forced his eyes open, though all he could manage was a blurry squint.

Heavy boots stomped right by his face.

The black clad figure brought out his hand formed in the universal gesture of a pointed gun.

The finger jerked forward.

_Pshoo._


	20. Chapter 20

Kendra and Cole were home sometime later.

Cole phoned the ambulance. Kendra had not noticed until he interrupted to ask what the emergency number was in Canada. That slowed her racing brain, enabled her to think purposefully again.

Spinner was out cold. The mini CD case was lying tipped over at the top of the stairs.

Kendra flitted through the CPR procedures. She already checked Spinner's breathing and pulse (both were good). There was more; luckily the dispatcher delivered all the particulars she had not retained. The dispatcher relayed, through Cole, to turn him on his side, but he was already on his side. She got a little snappish pointing that out.

The ambulance arrived within ten minutes. The medics lifted Spinner onto the stretcher and ferried him to the ambulance. Kendra did not have to do anything, except intimate her parents had been contacted. The medics permitted her and Cole to ride in the ambulance with them.

Rick was in the yard. Kendra saw him as she climbed into the back. She did not wave or signal anything; she did not know what to say. Rick, too, was at a loss for needless communication. He was still there when they drove away.

Now they were in the limbo of a waiting room.

"You're not going to call Aunt Abby or Uncle Dave?" Cole questioned.

"No." Simple, one word answer heavy with indignation and pride. Her parents would not care.

Kendra felt she should call someone. All the adults she had trusted through her childhood were now off limits. Joey was busy with his daughter's trauma. The Coopers would not lift a finger to help the guy who got their son shot. Mr. Simpson would not lift a finger to help the guy he thought threatened his stepdaughter. She could not involve Toby's parents without facing another interrogation from Toby, and she had already rejected his help today. She barely knew Manny's parents, the Van Zandts and JT's grandmother would not involve themselves in other family's problems, and Jay's parents were just as useless as her own.

She put off that detail, though she could not afford to for long. Instead she thought about the CD case positioned at the top of the stairs. Three guesses as to who staged the accident.

"Do you think it was the same guy?" Cole asked. "In the prop room? He would have had time."

The doctor informed them, "We ran an X-Ray and MRI and there's no sign of a concussion. However, we're keeping him here overnight, in case problems arise."

Kendra shifted in her chair. "Can we see him?"

"For a few minutes. I'm sorry but children aren't allowed in the ICU."

Cole lifted his head, nearly asleep from the excruciating long wait. Kendra bristled reflexively at the doctor's officious tone.

"Go ahead," Cole said, yawning. "I can wait here."

"I'll be right out," she reminded him, in case he was not awake when the doctor was talking.

She entered the curtained room. Spinner lay on the stiff bed. He looked better than she had feared; her lifetime of exposure to dead people cast a positive comparison for him. All that suggested he was injured was the bandage wrapped semi-loosely around the crown of his head, with a shadow of a purple bruise peeking out from underneath.

Spinner's eyes snapped open.

"Oh it's you," he rasped nervously. "I thought-"

He stopped Like Kendra could just let that go.

"You thought what?" she prodded.

"Nothing. I must have dreamed it."

He saw something. She was sure of it, but there was no way she could extract his experience from him. Chances were, she might never learn the truth of what he witnessed. If she asked directly, he would shut her off.

"How's your head?' she asked, resigned.

"I bit my tongue." The hoarseness persisted. Kendra looked around for a bucket of ice chips. There was none around, so she gave up. The nurses could take care of it.

"It's still in one piece, I presume," she replied. "Listen, Cole and I are gonna head home. We'll be back tomorrow morning. Is that OK?"

"No problem." Spinner sank back onto the pillow.

"You're sure." If he was worried about the malicious spirit showing up again, he hid it well enough.

"I'm sure," Spinner repeated. "I'll be fine."

He acted sincere, but maybe he was just too tired to worry about the dead person showing up. Kendra lingered, pausing, planning, but the injury did not require that much scrutiny. There was no excuse to stay for the night.


	21. Chapter 21

The hour was not that late when Kendra and Cole took the taxi home, but the events of the day had taken their toll. They took turns for the bathroom, then trudged to their rooms.

Kendra instantly recognized her room was not empty.

"How long was he there?" she asked Rick.

"I don't know," Rick answered flatly. "Ten, fifteen minutes. If it was any longer I would have gotten you."

"Really." Kendra was undecided on whether she believed him.

"This is serious business, Kendra." Rick freely used her name, when she avoided his. The inequality of this aspect rankled for her as well as for him. "At some point we have to abandon this stupid game and trust each other."

"Easy for you to say."

"No, it's not." Rick transposed himself so he was facing her. "I've been trying to prove myself to you for almost a year. And I've gotten nowhere. You don't see me as anything but a violent head case."

"You are a violent head case," Kendra sputtered.

Rick grabbed her arms, pinning her against the wall. "Am I? Or is it that you want me to be some caricature villain? I had to have died for a reason, right? So tell me, Kendra" (he used her name again) "Tell me where my death fits in your cosmic universe. What abomination did you decide I represented?"

"I didn't decide any of this," Kendra verged on screaming at him. "You're the one that trooped around the school like a pathetic imitation of Klebold and Harris. You wanted to make them as miserable as you were. You threw away all the good things you had in your life because of a stupid prank. Because a couple of renegades ruined your T-shirt."

Rick's hands trembled as they held her in place. His breath was hot and heavy on her.

He released one arm, and smoothed his hand over her face. His hand, like his breath, warmed her skin. Most of them - most of the dead people - were cold, but Rick's touch spread warm waves through her body. He traced his hand down to her neck. His other hand followed. Down her sides, teasing the edge of her breasts, then stopping at her waist. His arms closed around her. He leaned his head in.

A fierce kiss landed on her mouth. Kendra found her lips relaxing, moving against his. Her back ground into the wall. She had her arms raised where Rick had planted them. The arms drooped as Rick lowered her to the floor. She wanted her arms out of the way; the only use she could possibly have for them was to push Rick away and that seemed too crazy to contemplate.

Then a scream tore them away from their trance.

They let go at the same time. Rick vaulted off of her at the same time as Kendra braced herself to a stand. She slipped past him and followed the scream to the guest bedroom.

Cole had awakened from a brief slumber. The cold air from the open window bothered him. He had emerged from the covers to yank the window shut.

A heavy breathing dead person stumbled upon him. "This is your fault," the man said, as he lifted up a belt. Before Cole could react, the man lashed the belt buckle against him.

Cole ducked down. He tried to formulate an escape, but every time he tried to view his surroundings, that buckle smacked him again.

Kendra dashed into the room and yanked back the man. The other encounter had charged her with a superhuman dose of adrenalin; she had no problem dragging the bigger man away from Cole. The dead man whirled around furiously, readying the belt to his new target. The belt flew towards her face. Kendra caught it and ripped it away from him. Then she forced him to the floor.

"Do you know who I am?" the dead man shouted indignantly.

Dr. Manning. Craig's late tyrannical father. He would pick tonight to show his sorry dead self to her.

Cole uncoiled from his defensive huddle. Rick helped him up and he watched the scene unfold

"Girl," Dr. Manning repeated. "Do you know who I am?"

"Yes. You're a desperate little man with an inflated sense of self importance, which you think justifies beating the crap out of anyone who exists without your permission."

"You have some cheek," Dr. Manning sputtered. "Lucky for you, I don't hit girls."

"Right, but eight-year-old boys are fair game." Kendra ground her knee in the doctor's back. "I'm guessing Craig was much younger when you started with him. How old? Three? Four? Don't bother answering; I don't really want to know."

"He's the reason I'm still here. That shifty bastard . . ."

She grabbed his thinning hair. "I can cause you a lot of pain. And that's exactly what I'll do if you go near Craig or the Jeremiahs. And I don't want to ever see you in this house again. Understand?"

Dr. Manning sagged in defeat. "Yes," he squeaked. Kendra dropped his head and climbed up. Dr. Manning quickly faded out.

She deflated. All that energy just poured out of her and she braced her limp body against the night table.

"Are you OK?" she asked Cole.

"Yeah," Cole answered through chattering teeth.

Kendra glanced at Rick. The memory of that intense contact began to surge to her immediate attention. She pushed it away.

"Let's go downstairs," she suggested to Cole.

"OK," Cole agreed, glad he was not going to be left in the room alone again.

Cole settled onto the couch, while Kendra curled up in the armchair. The TV pierced on; FaceEater selected _Silence of The Lambs_ again. Neither of the living people objected. The sounds were comforting and in Kendra's case it distracted from thoughts she needed to ward away.

Rick remained by the window, too stunned to go after Kendra and Cole. He needed to process it all. He knew Kendra was tough, more eager to fight than to retreat when presented with a conflict, but never before had she behaved with such bone-terrifying viciousness. She could not have been the same girl who, minutes ago, had melted under his touch.

Kendra's attack had not fazed Cole much: either he had not recovered in time or the ghost Rick could not see threatened in a way that made Kendra's response reasonable.

And of course, Cole would not worry about ending up at the wrong end of that wrath. Though she had gotten angry at Rick plenty of time, she had never come close to expending so much rage on him, but now he knew she could do it. She may even have to, if he lost his control and harmed a living person.

_This must be how Teri felt when I started hitting her_, he thought wryly.

Talk about denial on his part, that one quick display of rage at an invisible man sank in more deeply than all the self-recrimination and anger management in his short life.


	22. Chapter 22

What first surfaced in her mind the next morning was not that Spinner almost died or that Cole got attacked by a dead child abuser or even that Toby was sticking his nose in where it did not belong.

It was that damn kiss.

The phone shrieked. Kendra lolled her head towards the coffee table. She lunged off the chair and picked up the phone.

"Hello?"

"Kendra," Toby's concerned voice penetrated the last bit of fog. "I heard what happened. Are you OK?"

She flopped back on the chair. "I'm fine. Spinner's the one in the hospital."

Toby paused. "How is he?"

"Good. Nothing serious. He'll only be staying a day or so."

Cole stirred on the couch. He opened his eyes and cast an inquisitive look at Kendra.

"That's good." Toby switched to detective mode. "Did he say what happened? Did he see who did it?"

"We didn't get a chance to talk yet," Kendra answered quite honestly.

"Are you going to talk to the police?"

"Police?" Kendra pronounced the word as if it were completely foreign to her. She slogged to make the connection. "You mean about Angie?"

"About Spinner," Toby corrected, with a hint of exasperation. "Kendra, this person was in your house. You're not safe."

_So what else is new?_ She cupped the phone, let out a heavy sigh to recompose herself.

"We don't really have anything to give to the police," she explained. "No proof. Spinner tripped over a CD case. They'll say one of us carelessly left it there. There's no proof for the other things either," she added, remembering the vanished prank call.

"Other things?" Toby's voice rose to a near hysterical level. "What other things?"

"You know," Kendra said indignantly. She could not keep silent too long. Why did Toby have to be so damn smart and observant? From now on she was only falling for guys with IQs smaller than 90.

That thought only routed her into the forbidden territory of last night. "The phone call," she blurted out. "Maybe Angie's attack is linked somehow."

"You said it had nothing to do . . . ?" That connection had escaped Toby. Kendra silently cursed herself for uncovering that clue for him. "Wait, you think that guy was after Cole?"

"I don't know," Kendra answered calmly.

"Kendra, what is going on? If you're in trouble-"

"Yes, we had this discussion. I'm not in trouble. "

"I want to help-"

"Look, I've got to go. Mom wants the line free."

He started to sputter something else, but she hung up.

Cole lifted up to a sit. "Is he mad?"

"Mad? Don't be ridiculous. He's concerned," Kendra said distastefully.

"Does he know about the other things?" Cole asked.

"Not all of them. How'd you sleep?"

"OK." Cole had not remembered much of last night, of Dr. Manning's appearance, which suited Kendra fine. It would be no more distinguishable than any of the freakish dead people he may have encountered.

She went upstairs to shower and change; she had been wearing the same clothes she had worn all through yesterday and the state of her hygiene bordered on a matter of urgency. After getting clean, she stalled at the mirror, tugging at the ends of her hair and examining her face. Primping. When she realized what she was doing she dropped her hands down and backed away from the mirror.

_No one saw_, she reassured herself, even though it was not true. That faceless glower had crept in. The glower that might be her overactive imagination. Or it might be Rick. Just what she needed, Rick peeping on her in the bathroom as part of their depraved courtship.

Cole was in the kitchen when she came back down. He had finally broken the habit of asking permission before opening the refrigerator door. He poured milk into his bowl of cereal.

The phone rang. Kendra suppressed another curse and retrieved her phone.

"Hi. It's Manny," came the response, the same as a year or so ago when Manny and Spinner were sort of together.

"Spinner isn't here," Kendra said automatically.

"I know. I heard what happened." _Of course she did._ "Is he OK?"

"He's fine," she repeated. "Nothing serious. He'll be home in a day or two."

"I'm glad. Listen, I want to apologize for Craig's rudeness yesterday."

Manny must have latched herself onto Craig as a girlfriend again, as she was taking it upon herself to apologize for him. "You don't have to do that."

"He's not going to do it himself," Manny tsked. "The male pride thing. But it's not like he really thought Cole was behind what happened to Angie."

Kendra was not so sure of that, but she humored Manny by agreeing. "Of course not."

"It's nothing personal. Craig's been in a funk lately, with Ashley and everything."

"I see."

"Listen, about Spinner . . ."

_Here we go._

"If something's going on . . ." Manny trailed off tactfully.

Kendra played dumb. "Like what?"

"Well, he's been acting odd lately, if you noticed."

"Not much about this year has been normal," Kendra reminded her.

"True, but if he - if you need help . . ."

"Thanks," Kendra said, when Manny left off another unfinished offer. "If anything happens, I'll let you know."

No sooner had she hung up when the doorbell rang.

"What is this? The Descent of the Busybodies?" Kendra complained to Cole and Carolee. Carolee sat across the kitchen table from Cole, her knife lying out in front of her like a divining rod.

Kendra stomped over to the front door. She saw Joey and Angie through the peephole. And Craig, with the scowl of someone about to undertake a repugnant task.

She parted open the door.

"Hi Kendra," Joey said warmly. "How are you?"

"Good. Do you want to come in?" She forced out the words, even though she wanted more than anything to be rude and send them away.

Angie charged in, swooping her plastic toy squid in circles. Kendra noted that the girl seemed to have recovered from her trauma.

"Angie, why don't you go play with Cole while Kendra and Craig and I have grown up talk?" Joey suggested.

She did not have to be told twice. "He's in the kitchen," Kendra directed and Angie tore out of the room.

Craig cleared his throat. "If you don't mind," he told Joey, "I'd rather keep an eye on Angie and . . . him." Without waiting for Joey's consent, he strode into the kitchen.

"Are your parents home?" Joey asked.

"They're at work," Kendra supplied the stock answer. She sat on the couch and invited Joey to the chair.

"I'd have thought one of them would take some time off for Spinner," Joey said, with a trace of disapproval. The Masons' absentee approach at parenting remained entirely foreign to him, and that was before the critical state under which they performed after the shooting.

"Spinner is fine," Kendra said, more coldly than she intended. "There's nothing for them to do until the hospital releases him tomorrow or whenever. Hence, work."

Joey's face crinkled with concern.

"Craig and his friends have been wondering about Spinner. If there was more going on about the accident."

"Like what?"

"I understand that this year has been . . . different," Joey worked to explain. "That Spinner isn't dealing with his problems as well as he could be. You might have noticed if he was up to something self-destructive. Like drugs."

"He's not on drugs," Kendra said with absolute certainty.

Joey appeared to accept that. "Not necessarily drugs. Craig and the others have noticed that Spinner seems depressed and lethargic lately. Even with the events of the past year, it might be a cause for concern. Maybe counseling would be a good idea."

An unexpected wave of anger hit Kendra. Maybe counseling would be a good idea? What about, maybe, talking to Spinner directly, instead of extending offers of help behind his back? Maybe that would be a good idea.

The anger faded almost immediately.

"I'll mention it to him, and my parents," she conceded. "Whether he'll go for it or not, I can't be sure."

Joey stood up, appeased for now. "If you or Spinner, or Cole, run into any trouble, you can always come to me."

Kendra answered with the same hollow "thanks."

"Squiggy has pretty eyes," Angie said, petting the plastic squid.

Craig watched from across the table, his narrowed eyes knifing into Cole. Cole found him difficult to ignore, though his behavior was no different than many of the dead people's.

"Let's take him for a walk," Angie decided.

"Squids go for walks?" Cole asked.

"Of course. That's what all their legs are for. I'll put on his leash."

She took off the stringy necklace that hung from her neck and laced it around the squid's face. "OK, we're ready."

She marched it around the perimeter of the table, making it tiptoe on its longest tentacles.

If Atlas Boy were here, he would never have tolerated such inaccuracies. Atlas Boy would have explained in his patronizing tone that the squid's limbs were not legs, they were arms, and furthermore squids would not take walks on dry land as they would die if they ever left the water. Cole was not so strict with Angie bending the rules of nature for her play, and not just because her foster brother fixed his angry death stare on him.

"We're walking along. Hmm-hmmm-hmmm. Soon we arrive in the city. What shall we do first?" Angie looked over at Cole.

"The park," Cole guessed.

"Excellent idea, Cole. We can ride the horses there."

"Sea horses?" Cole, still trying to keep up with Angie's fantasy.

Angie giggled. "You're funny."

Joey and Kendra emerged from the living room. "How's it going?"

"We're riding sea horses in the park," Angie announced.

"That sounds like fun." To his hosts, Joey said. "We should go. I have to get back to the garage."

Craig stood up impatiently.

"Daddy," Angie started to complain.

"You can visit Cole some other time, honey," Joey assured her. "But I have to go back to work."

"OK. Bye, everyone," Angie waved.

"Let me know how things turn out," Joey encouraged.

They left for the hospital soon after.

"She didn't mention the prop room," Cole said, as they exited the car. Kendra had lapsed into a silence similar to the one when she first picked him up from the airport. "That's good news."

"Yeah," Kendra agreed mechanically.

They found Spinner's room. This time, none of the staff opposed Cole's going in with Kendra, so they just walked through to the wing.

Spinner sat up, looking more alert and bored.

"Looks like you got past Dr. Botox," he said, noticing Cole arrived with her.

"Guess so," Kendra said, lifting out of her listless state.

"Yep," Cole echoed. He positioned on the hard plastic chair reserved for visitors.

"So how was last night?" Kendra asked. "Any more weird dreams?"

Spinner's face blanked. "Can't recall."

"I guess it was hard to get any real sleep here," she persisted, "with all the people walking in and out."

"I slept fine." He sounded defensive. Kendra could not discern if someone really had appeared last night or if Spinner had residual fear and embarrassment from the fall. The latter was just as plausible.

She knew he had seen something, but she did not know when.

"Mom and Dad don't know about this, do they?" Spinner spoke, after the two of them stewed in frustration and resentment.

"They don't but virtually everyone else knows," Kendra said, more lightly. "Joey thinks you're on drugs."

"Nice to know my reputation hasn't changed."

"Don't you think your parents will find out from Joey or someone?" Cole asked.

"I'll be out of here before then so it really doesn't matter," Spinner reasoned.

"But doesn't one of them need to sign you out before you leave?"

"Technically, they should have signed permission before he got treated in the ER," Kendra added.

"It's been taken care of," Spinner explained wearily.

"Sorry," Cole muttered.

A loud clang sounded from the hall. All three of them jumped. Seconds later, an orderly passed with a cart of medical supplies.

If they were in a less grave mood, they might have seen some humor in the false scare. Instead, Spinner eyed his sister suspiciously. "What's got you so jumpy?"

"Speak for yourself," Kendra retorted. "You practically landed on the ceiling."

Spinner pointed to his wound. "Head injury."

"Are you going to use that as an excuse for everything from now on?"

"Is this one of those things that's not a fight," Cole interrupted, because the energy was different from their usual good-natured squabbles.

"Right," the siblings replied simultaneously.


	23. Chapter 23

She was finally alone. Cole had wandered to his room. Either he was chatting with his friends from Philadelphia or he was talking to Rick. Which was fine; Kendra would not begrudge Rick hanging around Cole.

What the hell had she been thinking? She did not want Rick. She knew how he treated girls. And besides - and this was an important factor - he was dead. He was no longer a person; he was a shadow, a memory of unresolved rage and grief. Getting together was out of the question.

Who said anything about getting together? It was just a kiss in a stressful moment.

Kendra leapt off her bed and grabbed her journal from the desk. Why was she spending time mooning over Rick when the dead person who put Spinner in the hospital was still roaming around, plotting his next attack?

She made a list of possible people. She did not know any dead people who carried a grudge against Spinner, so she wrote down the live people who might wish her brother harm. Not that any of them had pulled those pranks, but she started it to facilitate her brain into conjuring real (dead) suspects.

1. Craig - Motive: Intensely hostile to S for his role in getting Jimmy paralyzed. Has a temper problem (once punched out Joey and trashed a hotel room when Ashley refused his proposal of marriage) but temper largely under control now (meds). Opportunity: maybe. No more than average knowledge of computers. Little opp to nab phone. Reasons against: he wouldn't make that call to Emma.

2. Manny - Motive: less obvious. Past relationship w/ S could have caused some negative feelings she might feel compelled to hide. Opportunity: same as Craig. Reasons against: no reason to hurt E

3. JT- Motive: never liked S. Opportunity: At the cafe when E received call. Could have weaseled it away, but not that likely. Computer skills better than C or M but not by much. Reasons Against: Again wouldn't do that to E.

4. Liberty - Motive: none. Neither liked nor hated S. Shooting only altered her opinion of him to a distant disapproval. No connection to Rick. Opportunity: At cafe. Pretty good with computers. Reasons Against: See Motive.

5. Emma - Motive: while she never openly blamed S (before the call), she was severely affected by the shooting. Could she have fake manufactured the call? Opportunity: Pretty good computer skills. Reasons against: ?

6. Jay - Motive: Likes E. Maybe he faked that call to her so he would look good compared to S. Opportunity: Plenty. He was at the lake (something he mentioned prompted S onto the dock) and he could have nabbed S's phone during his bathroom break. Average computer skills. Reasons against: even Jay is not stupid enough to think a threatening phone call would help him win E back.

The list went on and on, gauging nearly everyone at Degrassi, including Jimmy, his girlfriend Hazel, Spinner's ex-girlfriend Paige, Sean Cameron, Jimmy's basketball coach and teammates, Mr. Simpson, and Rick's mother.

Kendra's pen stopped. Rick's mother. Now there was a viable direction.

Mrs. Murray was a single mother: whether by divorce or widowhood, Kendra was not sure. So it was possible that Rick's father was dead. It was possible that he might think Spinner was responsible for Rick's death and now he was seeking vengeance.

She could imagine how Rick would react when she brought up that possibility. But it was a lead, and Kendra was not about to toss it aside just to preserve Rick's pride.

She folded the list and closed her notebook.

During the night, the list was removed from her journal. The pages ended up in Toby Isaacs's duffel bag.

Toby found the papers as he got ready to leave for the Van Zandts. He read them, instantly recognizing Kendra's tiny handwriting. He read each analysis of each of his friends, all of them portrayed in a rather unflattering light. Each name brought up, examined, and summarily dumped from speculation.

His hand shook with anger as he dialed Kendra's number.

He suspected she would ignore his call, as she had done for most of the year. But she picked up: she must have neglected to check the caller ID.

"I found your list," Toby growled.

"Toby, what are you talking about?" Kendra said impatiently.

"The list. Of suspects. You said you didn't suspect my friends."

"I don't." She kept her answer enigmatically short.

"You have them listed right here," Toby pressed. "Motive. Opportunity. Reasons against."

On the other end, Kendra hitched her breath, suddenly realizing what Toby referred to. She dashed upstairs and leafed open her notebook, without any attempt to disguise the sounds. She fingered the perforated edges that remained in the binding, a blatant clue of the theft of her notes.

_Son of a bitch._

"Kendra," Toby voice rose insistently over the phone. He was spoiling for an argument, and she was not giving him one.

"What am I supposed to say about this?" she complained. "Your friends did have motive and opportunity.

"You told me you didn't think they did it," Toby repeated. "You lied to me."

_And not for the first time_, Toby realized. Kendra's lie, about his friends being suspects, would not have offended him nearly as much if that was the only lie. She had lied all through their relationship. She lied about why she dumped him and why she cut him from her life. And now when he tried to help her, to save her brother's neck, she lied to him again.

Kendra sighed. "For what it's worth, I don't really think they did it. But there were some things I had to think about. I couldn't ignore them."

"You could have told me," Toby said. "But you know what? I'm out. If you can't trust me to tell me the truth, then I can't do anything about that. You don't want my help. I'll accept that. Have a nice life."

He hoped Kendra would put up at least a token resistance. Instead he met with silence, then the blare of the dial tone. She hung up before he did.


	24. Chapter 24

Kendra lowered the phone and turned her attention back to the missing pages in the journal. Her thoughts split: she was angry this dead asshole went through her journal and she was sad that Toby had gotten fed up. She should be relieved that he decided not to poke into her secrets. She had gotten what she wanted but it did not feel like a victory.

She forced herself into a congenial mood when it was time to pick up Spinner at the hospital. If Cole noticed her plummeting spirit, he did not mention it.

Spinner was already dressed. The bandage on his head had been removed revealing a dark, rectangular patch that resembled spoiled meat.

"We can stop at the gift shop for a hat," Kendra spoke out loud.

"Why do you want a hat?" Spinner asked cluelessly.

"To cover your bruise."

"I'd rather have this that a dweeb hat."

"You look like a zombie," Kendra pointed out. "You look like a zombie that tried to cure his flesh eating virus with a weed whacker."

Spinner remained unpersuaded. "No hat."

Cole was relieved that their arguing had reverted to its ordinary humor.

One of the nurses wheeled Spinner out, while Kendra pulled the car to the hospital door. He stood.

He had walked to the passenger door when it hit him that he had been able to stand up and walk out of the hospital while Jimmy had not. Jimmy could never completely leave the wheelchair, like Spinner had just done.

It should have been Spinner that had gotten shot instead. Not that he was suicidal but if it came to a choice between himself or Jimmy, Spinner would rather have it be himself. It was only fair: Spinner had had it coming and Jimmy did not. Spinner had falsely indicated otherwise when he and Jay pulled that prank, but Rick should have known, damnit.

"Are you OK?" Kendra asked, as Spinner had frozen at the door handle.

"Yeah," Spinner answered. "Just . . . thinking." He unstuck from his angry grip on the door handle and ducked into the car.

The house appeared dark when they entered. Haloes from the bright sun lingered in Spinner's eyes for several more seconds. He paused at the door, waiting for other aberrations to emerge. He had no need to worry; everything was in its place.

That flash of fear was gone, replaced with exasperation. He walked to the living room. It, too, was unchanged from when he last saw it.

"You should sit down," Kendra suggested, stepping behind him.

"I'm fine."

"Sit down." A strong echo. Spinner shrugged and sat on the couch. Cole joined him, climbing into the adjacent chair.

After Kendra stalked off, Cole asked, "Want to see a trick?"

Spinner idly wondered how risky it was to say yes when he did not know what the trick was. Then he got further exasperated by his caution.

"Sure," he relented.

Cole pulled a coin out of his pocket. He passed it through his fingers.

The trick was so antithetical that Spinner almost missed the finish. When Cole lowered his arms and took on that look of inexpressive patience, Spinner clued in.

"That's good," he commented, trying to summon some enthusiasm. "Who taught you that?"

"A guy," Cole answered. He had not altered from his careful inexpressive stance.

Kendra came in and plunked a glass of milk on the coffee table while she offered bottles of creme soda for Cole and herself.

"I'd like a creme soda," Spinner said. He did not really need any drink, but the milk offended him, like it was taunting his earlier flight from reality.

Kendra snorted. "Does this look like a restaurant?" then more solicitously, "How about some TV?"

Spinner pushed the milk away. "Fine. As long as it's not _Silence of the Lambs_."

Things returned to normal with a surprising swiftness. Spinner went to work the next day. Kendra had to decide if she would return to the poetry class. She missed one class (which gouged more from her grade) and had finished very few of the assignments. At this point, she was sure she was failing miserably. But she did not want to quit. The class was her one tie to the living world, and the idea of her giving it up filled her with horror.

She arrived back at the school with her still blank journal, thanks to the absence of one crucial list. As she dropped her bag at her usual seat, Emma deigned to approach her.

"I thought you dropped out," Emma said shortly.

"No." Kendra left her reply at that. She was not obliged to explain to Emma her plans.

"Shouldn't you?" Emma asked, blunt to the point of being hostile. "To save your grade point? I heard you're failing the class."

Kendra met the blonde girl's narrowed eyes. "I'll catch up."

"Ooh, catfight," a male classmate hooted. Emma sighed dismissively and stalked to her seat.


	25. Chapter 25

On Wednesdays, Mrs. Murray (Rick's mother) visited the cemetery, so Kendra arranged to run into her after class, to obtain information about Rick's absentee father. Cole agreed that she would get more information going alone. "You don't have to watch over me all the time," he reminded her, with the measured patience of a child with an overbearing parent. It left her feeling old.

So they went to the school as usual. Afterwards Cole procured an invitation to Atlas Boy's house. Kendra detoured to the florist then headed for the cemetery where Rick was buried.

She brought chrysanthemums, just like the other few times she visited Rick's grave. She had gotten the idea of mums as a mourning flower from an anime, and only later did she realize that it accentuated her Asian birthright. It worked to her benefit to distance her from a familial connection to Spinner, just in case. Though some judgmental people might consider that a betrayal, Kendra was used to putting aside unrelated political correctness for the sake of dead people who would never learn any different and mourning relatives who were in no condition to.

Mrs. Murray had not changed her routine. By the time Kendra arrived, she had been sitting at the grave.

"Hi, Kendra," Mrs. Murray, brightening a bit.

"Hello."

The two of them had conversed a few times. The first time, a couple of days after Rick's funeral, Kendra "accidentally" stumbled upon an encounter when Mrs. Murray was there, and introduced herself as Rick's friend. She had apologized for missing the funeral, claiming that she had the stomach flu. It never occurred for Mrs. Murray to wonder why Rick had never brought up her name or why she had never called or visited. Such was the usual logic of an aggrieved mother.

"How is your summer?" Mrs. Murray asked. She was one of the few adults Kendra knew who asked out of genuine interest, instead of tabulating whether Kendra was doing enough to prepare for college.

"Busy," Kendra said. "I have a cousin visiting from Pennsylvania, so I'm playing host while he's here."

"How long is he staying?"

"A while," Kendra let in a discretory pause. "His parents have just gotten divorced, so things are a little confusing at his home.." When Mrs. Murray's face softened, she quickly reassured, "He's doing fine. He talks to his mother every other day on the phone."

"That's good," Mrs. Murray "That he has family that he can rely on."

_So did Rick_, Kendra thought. To cover her spurt of anger, she knelt down on the ground and laid the chrysanthemums beside the grave.

She glimpsed Rick from the corner of her eye. He stood several meters away, close enough to overhear the conversation but not so close that he crowded her.

"Rick likes the chrysanthemums," Mrs. Muirray said. "I know it sounds silly but I can sense it."

"It's not silly." No sillier than playing horseshoes with a dead guy - or buckling under a long passionate kiss from a dead guy.

"It's a very thoughtful gift." Mrs. Murray's voice darkened. There had been other gifts: angry graffiti and garbage dumped upon the grave, even (ironically) a dead bird with a BB gun pellet buried in its chest. Vandals who might otherwise have uneasy consciences about desecrating a person's grave saw a school shooter's burial place as fair game. It was the reason Kendra brought chrysanthemums, to outbalance some of the viler leavings.

Mrs. Murray rose from her kneel. Then she called out.

"Good morning Toby."

Toby hesitated. He debated leaving, but decided it would be too rude to Mrs. Murray. So he approached the two women.

"Hi, Mrs. Murray," he mumbled, purposely only addressing his former friend's mother. He knew it was immature, but he had a more valid reason to be in this cemetery than Kendra. What was she doing here anyway? Kendra could never stand Rick.

"Toby have you met Kendra . . ." Mrs. Murray trailed as she searched her memory for a last name.

"Chang," Kendra supplied, her eyes lowered to the ground.

Toby nodded. "From school," was all he could explain.

"Kendra brings chrysanthemums for Rick," Mrs. Murray gushed. Toby was too stunned to answer. Mrs. Murray forged on. "Well I hope you two enjoy some of this nice summer day. And best of luck to your cousin."

She wandered back to the street where her car was parked. Now that she had left, Toby aimed a scrutinous glare at Kendra. He could not figure any of this out: her acquaintance with Mrs. Murray, the chrysanthemums. Kendra climbed to her feet and occupied herself with brushing dirt off her skirt.

"Why are you pretending to be Rick's friend?" Toby asked.

"I thought you were staying out of my life," Kendra said, a little too casually.

"I am," Toby protested. "I just didn't think you knew Rick that well."

She shrugged.

"You told me -"

"I didn't tell you a thing. You are inferring."

"That's my point. Getting you to confide anything is like pulling teeth. How is any relationship supposed to last if you don't trust me?"

The rehashing of the relationship. Kendra had had to expect that sooner or later. She strayed off, saying "When JT passed his condolences to Mrs. Murray, he was a goddamn hero."

"JT didn't lie about his last name," Toby called after her.

She turned and leveled an earnest look at him. "Chang is the name of my birth family," she crisply informed him.

Toby's pause was shorter. "You didn't tell me you traced your birth family."

Kendra blew an exasperated sigh and stalked off.

"So out of curiosity," Rick asked, long after Toby was out of sight, "why were you visiting my mother?"

"Just being friendly."

"Right. And you exaggerated that sob story about Cole's parents for polite conversation." Kendra stopped at the corner, allowing Rick to catch up to her. He pressed on, "So what's with your interrogation? It's not like my mother is a suspect." He laughed, hitting a shrill note.

"Your father is," Kendra slipped in.

Rick let out another hoarse laugh. "Wait you're serious?" Kendra nodded. "My father's not dead."

"Are you sure?" she cast doubt on his answer.

"Yes." Rick frowned. "I mean I don't have any memories of him. He left when I was three. But Mom would have told me if he had died."

"She might have lied."

They reached her house. Kendra stomped over to the backyard and retrieved her horseshoes. She lobbed them at the pegs. _Ping. Ping_.

"Why would she have lied?" Rick growled.

"Lots of reasons. He may have been a shit like Dr. Manning. He may have been a drug addict or a gambler or a mobster. Or he may have died recently, after you did. Any of those are possible."

"He didn't . . ." Rick could not finish because he really did not know that much about his father. He had confronted the possibility of his father being an abuser in his anger management sessions. That he may have inherited his own violent tendencies from this father who had no personal impact in his life. He had asked his mother about it. She had not said he was, but she had never outright denied it, either.

Kendra released her last horseshoe. "If she hadn't told you, she was trying to protect you."

"So you're saying that he was-"

"I don't know. But other parents have lied about it. Hanging around worrying that their kids might find out that father beat mother or that mother was an alcoholic. Worrying that now that they are gone the harmful parent might try to insinuate themselves into the kids' lives. But as it appears neither of your parents are dead, I really don't know."

Rick mulled this over in silence while Kendra gathered her horseshoes and started another round.

"So you talked to your birth parents?" Rick said. "Through your . . ."

"Relatives come by." _Ping._ "Most of them don't speak English. They usually leave after hitting the language barrier." _Ping._ "Maybe they just want to check on me. Make sure I'm not disgracing the family name." _Ping._ "Even if I don't have the family name now."

Kendra stopped. She held up her last horseshoe, as if sizing the distance. "I had a great uncle that spoke English. I was eight at the time. My parents are still alive, and they had another child. A boy."

She pitched the horseshoe. Its clang echoed threateningly through the summer afternoon air.

Kendra finished, "My uncle said they really wanted a boy."


	26. Chapter 26

Every flat surface in Atlas Boy's room was covered with maps. The maps ran from the floor over the ceiling, corners overlapping the doorjambs and windowsills. Yellowing paper curled at the edges, despite Atlas Boy's careful application of gum tack. Some of them looked alarmingly tattered and brittle. Cole wondered why, with all the care Atlas Boy had taken to straighten the maps, he had not tried harder to preserve the paper.

"You mean laminate them?" Atlas Boy said disdainfully when Cole voiced his question. "It makes a glare. Besides, it's a work in progress."

On the desk was a map larger than the ones stuck on the walls. Though it was a couple of decades old, Atlas Boy had started to draw some of the modern borders with a Sharpie marker. The rest of the room was cluttered with art supplies; a good proportion of them pilfered, Cole suspected.

"Your parents don't mind?" Cole asked. "That you covered the walls."

"My dad doesn't mind 'cause it's educational," Atlas Boy mumbled. "But Gillian complains all the time that its hard to clean in here. Like I want her going through my stuff."

Cole started to ask who Gillian was but Atlas Boy shifted his attention as he always did, with an impatience that would not tolerate any reverting back to the previous subject.

"I also got this." Atlas Boy lifted up what looked to be a piece of jumbled metal with a tiny telescope at the end.

"It's a sextant," Atlas Boy explained, warily watching his guest for an unprovoked guffaw at the instrument's name. Cole kept quiet. "It was my grandfather's. The readings are a little off because it's been dropped."

Atlas Boy held the sextant a distance away, so Cole knew better than to try and touch it.

"What does it do?"

"Navigate. Before ships had radar, sailors used these to find their way to their port."

"Cool."

A knock sounded on the door. A woman barged in without waiting for an invitation. From Atlas Boy's venomous look, Cole might have guessed she would not get one.

"Are you playing with that thing again?" she asked. "Why don't you leave it in your father's office so you don't break it?"

"I'm not gonna break it," Atlas Boy asserted through clenched teeth. To prove his point, he carefully stowed the sextant back in its case.

The woman honed her curious stare at Cole. "Rees, are you going to introduce me to your friend?"

"No."

She smiled determinedly. "Sorry my stepson is so rude. I'm Gillian."

"I'm Cole," Cole returned, trying to be as noncommittal as possible without becoming downright rude.

"Do you boys want to come downstairs?" Gillian offered. "We could play cards."

"No," Atlas Boy said loudly.

Gillian's shoulders stiffened. She conceded, "All right," and stepped out, pulling the door shut.

Gillian's awkward defeat hung over the room, though Atlas Boy did his best to brush it off. "Let's go in the yard."

Abby Mason was waiting in the foyer when Kendra and Cole came home.

"You didn't forget it was tonight, did you?"

Cole looked up at Kendra, referring to her to translate her mother's lunacy.

"What's tonight?" Kendra asked.

"The family dinner," Abby stressed. "Your father stopped at Rocco's for steak and I had Gavin pick up some dessert. If you had been home on time, we would have set the table."

Nobody had bothered to tell Kendra, of course. "It's tonight?" she echoed in dismay. She was in no mood for this nice family dinner. She wanted to check up on the status of Rick's father and eliminate him once and for all as a suspect. Then she had to write some poignant haikus for class tomorrow.

"Don't start Kendra." Abby scolded. "Go set the table. Cole, go see where Gavin has disappeared to."

Cole climbed upstairs. Spinner was sitting at the computer in the guest room. Spinner glanced at the door quickly. As he did, the cursor zoomed to the close tab and the box vanished.

"Aunt Abby wants you downstairs," Cole said awkwardly.

"Christ," Spinner muttered "One second."

Cole stepped into the room. "What are you doing?" he asked. He was a kid, right? It was his nature to ask annoying questions.

"Email." Spinner shut off the computer.

"I'll be right down," Cole said. "I have to wash my hands."

"'Kay," Spinner said dubiously, then left. Cole listened for his older cousin heading down the stairs then lunged for the computer.

Starting it up took little time. Spinner and Kendra habitually left it on sleep. He clicked on the email tab. A screen popped up with a list of emails.

It had to be Spinner's. Kendra only had a Yahoo address and his aunt and uncle predominately used their work computers. Cole scrolled through the messages. Aside from the Spam mail, the messages were all from someone called **Walkingisanart**.

He opened one.

Dad's fishing trip was cancelled. A friend of his having chest pains and is going to the hospital for tests. Now I'm getting paranoid. Buying all these healthy foods for us and throwing out all the high fat stuff. He's not too happy with it.

This weekend Lina and I are running the distorted photo booth at the art fair. Lina has all the camera expertise so I guess my job will be taking money from the customers. We tested the equipment by taking my picture. It came out like my face was a blob of spaghetti.

Thanx for the spoons. How's life in the coffeemaking world?

"Cole," Aunt Abby's indignant voice interrupted. "We're waiting up for you."

"I saw Conrad Cooper today," Dave Mason brought up. Oblivious, Kendra supposed, to the tense atmosphere that already permeated the dining room. "He's been looking for a wheelchair basketball league for Jimmy. Might take some commuting . . ."

"There are a lot of those leagues now," Abby piped up. "Jimmy will certainly get his choice of them."

"Right," Dave proclaimed. "Jimmy was on an actual team. He could run circles around those kids."

Kendra's father had a deep passion for sports. Dave was a Degrassi basketball champion and had dreamed of playing professionally when he was teen. When that dream had never become reality, he had hoped that his children would continue the tradition. That hope had never become reality.

Spinner stared into his plate.

A woman swept by the table. "Rats," she rasped. "Rats."

"Maybe those kids could use a towel boy, huh," Dave ribbed Spinner.

"Sure, Dad," Spinner said flatly. That was his stock answer for any of his father's sports jokes. It was the closest to keeping silent, and keeping silent only led to Dave repeating the joke in case no one heard the first time.

"Cheer up, Gavin." Abby ordered. "Jimmy can't blame you for what that psycho kid did forever."

She glanced at Cole and swiftly decided to change the subject. "So Kendra, is that boy you like in your art class?"

"Poetry class," Kendra corrected. "No."

"Rats," the dead woman interjected. She paced back and forth. "Rats. Rats."

"What about you Cole?" Abby asked. "I heard you were at a friend's house today."

"Yeah. Atlas Boy's," Cole answered.

"Atlas Boy?"

"Rees Landon," Cole said.

"Strange kid," Dave commented, to which Kendra raised her eyebrow. Sometimes it seemed like her father had never outgrown high school.

"I might get to go sailing with him and his dad," Cole said.

"That sounds like fun," Abby said.

Dave nodded in approval. "It's something. Boys need things like that in their lives. Or they get loopy."

"Rats," said the woman.

"Maybe if Rick played more sports, he wouldn't have needed to shoot up the school," Kendra said crassly.

"Kendra-" Abby sighed.

"You make fun, but there is a connection between playing sports and self-esteem," Dave insisted. "It helps you learn discipline and self reliance. Kids today don't have enough discipline and self-reliance. That's when they start demanding things that the rest of us have to spend a lifetime of work to earn."

"Rats," said the woman.

"I thought we agreed . . ." Abby spoke to Dave.

"This isn't just about that," Dave argued. "This is one of the fundamental blocks of life. Discipline. Self-reliance. Any responsible parent should teach their kids about discipline and self-reliance. Cole's old enough to learn about discipline and self reliance."

Cole shrank back into his chair. _Please don't ask my opinion on this_, he begged silently. He recalled the arguments between his parents about him; the last thing he needed was to get involved with another family's battles.

"Without discipline and self-reliance, we would be back in the stone ages!"

"Fine with me," Spinner commented. "At least we wouldn't have guns."

Abby stood up. "I can't believe you two. All I ask for is one nice family dinner. I want an attitude adjustment right now or you can go upstairs without dessert."

Kendra and Spinner pushed back their chairs and climbed out of their seats. "Sit down!" Abby shouted. "Sit down and behave like civilized people." Next to her, Dave guffawed. "I'm getting the dessert. You sit down and I don't want to hear a word of complaint."

She exited the room in a huff.

Dave ignored his insolent children and turned to Cole. "Maybe I'll take an afternoon off and work with you on some shots. Then you won't end up like Towel Boy here."

From the kitchen, Abby let out a piercing scream.

"Gavin, get in here! Now!"

Spinner flung down his fork and galloped to the kitchen. Naturally, Kendra came in right behind him.

"What is this?" Abby thrust out the open pie box to them. A furry rat toy lay on top of the crust, its tail trailing off the plate.

"Rats," said the woman next to Kendra. "Rats."


	27. Chapter 27

It took close to a half an hour to convince Abby that Spinner had nothing to do with the rat. After that, everyone dispersed to their rooms. Kendra detoured to Cole's room.

She typed in Rick's father's name in Google and quickly eliminated him as a suspect. The man was alive.

"Satisfied?" Rick said.

"Who is **Walkingisanart**?" Cole asked, as he entered. He had dressed for bed and was popping his toothbrush back in its travel case.

"I have no idea," Kendra mumbled. It seemed like she had really fallen out of the loop today.

"What was the name?" Rick asked.

"**Walkinisanart**," Cole pronounced. "It's a username. He or she sent lots of emails to Spinner."

"Hmm." Kendra switched over to Spinner's email. "Yowza."

"So what's this I heard about a rat?" Rick asked.

"Someone left a rat on today's dessert," Cole said quietly.

"A toy rat," Kendra clarified. "One of those fuzzy Halloween numbers. Mom's got kind of a phobia of rats so she overreacted. It wasn't - you know."

Cole shifted forward, frowning. Then he sprang up. "I'll be right back."

Kendra skimmed through the emails. "These all look normal." She looked at the empty spot on Cole's bed. "Where'd he go?"

Rick shrugged.

With a sigh, Kendra launched herself from the computer chair.

Cole went downstairs with the intent of digging the pie out of the trash but the dead woman beat him to it. The garbage bin was tipped over; the woman stood amid the litter on the floor, holding the squashed box.

"Rats," she hissed.

She shuffled forward a few steps.

"What was in the pie?" Cole asked.

She did not answer yet. The woman proceeded in her painfully slow gait until she reached Cole. The box jounced in her shaky hands.

She shoved the box in his arms.

"Kills rats," she exhaled.

She backed away when she saw Kendra emerge from the dining room. Kendra and Rick crossed into the kitchen.

Cole turned to them. "Do you know where we could get this tested? For rat poison?"

Kendra fixed a shocked look at the woman.

"Not her," Cole corrected. "What happened when your mom discovered the toy rat on the pie? What did she do with it?"

"She threw it away." Realization dawned on Kendra. "So it didn't get eaten."

Cole set the box on the counter. "You helped us," he told the woman. "Thank you."

"Rats." The woman crouched behind the table.

After they cleaned up the mess, Kendra dug out a good-sized sample of the pie and put the contents in a Tupperware container.

Cole scribbled out the address to a Detective James Brown in Philadelphia.

"Here." He handed the slip of paper to Kendra. The next day, Kendra would transcribe that address to a FedEx box and mail the sample to Cole's contact.

"So he knows about your -" Kendra asked.

"Yeah." Cole guarded his secret carefully; only the detective and his mom knew. But compared to Kendra, he was very cavalier about it. "There was this plane crash. I saw it - the actual crash. Detective Brown learned about the other things I saw."

"Wow." Kendra fought down her irrational surge of envy that Cole had people he could rely on.

"The test still might take a while," Cole cautioned. "He'll have other cases. After he gets the results, he'll send them here."

Kendra nodded.

Before they sent it off, Cole had to give his mother an update of the things occurring here. He set his alarm a couple hours earlier, so he could reach her before she left for work.

The alarm set off as planned. Cole quickly shut if off. He wandered downstairs, furtively checking to see if anyone else was awake. Once he was convinced he had not disturbed any of the Masons, he put through his call.

Lyn answered right away. "Hi honey."

"Hi, Mom. How is everything?"

"Good. The Fazios are enjoying having Sebastian at their house during the day. Frankie's angling for a dog of his own."

"Oh."

"What are you doing up so early?" Lyn asked. "It must be four in the morning."

"Just a heads up." Cole tried to sound casual. "I'm sending a package to Detective Brown. A friend of Kendra's got a pie, and . . . we think it might have poison in it."

Lyn's breathing ceased for a second or two. "Poisoned? Are you sure?"

"A woman said it contained rat poison. She put a toy rat on top so no one ate it. But other weird things have happened. Pranks, but they're getting a little vicious."

"This sounds dangerous," Lyn said shakily.

"I'm not targeted. Kendra thinks she knows the motive." Cole was aware he was landing another bombshell on his mother, but he did not see how he could leave out this fact. "Mom, Kendra can see them too."

"She can." Cole remained silent as the news sank in. Once Lyn got over the shock, it would not seem as dire.

"How is she coping?" Lyn asked. The question sounded ridiculous, but at least she recovered quickly.

"Pretty well," Cole admitted. "They don't scare her at all." Only Rick's death had any effect on her, as far as Cole could discern, but that was a completely different issue.

"It might be a family trait," Lyn thought after a while. "Abby and I are only second cousins, but you might both have that same trait."

"Kendra was adopted."

"This is so weird," Lyn said, rushing to add, "Not that it's bad. It's good news. At least you have someone who understands this."

"You're very understanding," Cole reassured her, but he knew what his mom meant. No matter how hard she tried, part of Cole's talent would remain a mystery to her.

A rustle sounded as Lyn shifted anxiously in her seat. "Listen, Cole. I know you are doing the right thing about helping this friend. Just please be careful. If this prankster is one of them, you would be vulnerable. Remind Kendra of that."

"We'll be careful," Cole promised, to ease his mother's worries. He planned to be careful, and he was sure Kendra did too. He was not sure, however, that they had that much of a choice in the matter.


	28. Chapter 28

"You should tell Toby," Rick advised. When Kendra glared, he corrected himself, "Of course, it's your decision. But you can trust him. And he has a few connections. Not as many as a police detective, but . . ."

"I'll think about it," Kendra said. Otherwise, Rick would ramble on and on. She gathered her completed haikus and her still empty school journal and packed them into her bag.

She skipped making breakfast that morning, so she and Cole could stop at FedEx before class. They picked up croissant sandwiches and doughnut holes at a nearby Tim Horton's.

"I told my mom about it," Cole confessed. "I told her what we were sending to Detective Brown. I didn't tell her it was our pie."

"I guess she would hear about it sooner or later," Kendra rationalized for him. She was getting less concerned about keeping everything a secret. This ghost had notched up the threats. He could not have foreseen the Rat Lady warning them of the contents. The ghost had been willing to let Spinner, or anyone else in the family, eat the poisoned pie. He may have sent any of them to the hospital - or killed them.

She bumped into Liberty Van Zandt at the schoolyard.

"Hello Kendra. You must be Cole," Liberty greeted them.

"Hi."

"Yes."

"So how many classes are you taking over the summer?" Liberty asked, squinting as she usually did when grilling her classmates.

"Just one." Kendra had an irrational dread that Liberty would echo Emma's advice to drop her poetry class.

"I've got two. I'm making up my art credits." Liberty grimaced. She did not view herself as an especially creative person.

"You and JT did a great job on directing _Dracula_," Kendra reminded her. "Wouldn't Haksiopoulos give you credits for that?" Ms. Haksiopoulos was their current principal, the one that replaced that assbag Raditch.

Liberty shook her head. "No. That was purely extracurricular. And I don't have JT's help with this because most of the assignments are in class. It isn't as hard as I thought, though."

"Oh." Since Liberty made no hint of leaving, Kendra said, "Mind if we sit down and eat? We got up late. Unless, Cole, you want to head to the library now?"

"We're not allowed to eat in the library," Cole reminded her.

"Sure," Liberty followed Kendra to a grassy spot for the three to sit. Kendra offered her some doughnut holes.

"You directed a play?" Cole asked, thankfully steering Liberty away from fawning concern.

"I still can't believe all that craziness from directing that play," Liberty claimed. "We chose Dracula and our old principal banned it because of . . ."

"He knows about the shooting," Kendra said.

"Oh." the other girl grunted, flustered. "Because of that. Personally I couldn't see how they were related. So we did all these politics before we even started casting. Then he got replaced and the new principal gave the okay to perform Dracula."

"Raditch was a major pill," Kendra agreed.

"It turned out okay. The play." Liberty specified. "Weird that you brought it up today. I just heard that Jay Hobart was hit by a car."

Kendra swallowed. That bit of sandwich stuck uncomfortably in her pipe, she barely avoided choking. Cole started as well, once he realized Liberty was talking about the same Jay who hung out in the garage with Spinner.

"He got hit by a car?" she echoed. "Is he all right?"

"Some fractures on his leg and ribs and a concussion," Liberty reported. "He's going to recover."

Thank god. The last thing Kendra needed was a dead Jay hounding her every second of the day.

"I'm glad he's okay," Kendra said earnestly. "I mean, holy shit."

Emma poised her hands on the keyboard as she read her work over one more time. Once again, the words eluded her.

She could not concentrate. Just this morning, Manny had called her with the news of Jay's accident. While she did not especially care for Jay anymore since their fling ended, she would never wish anyone to undergo such grueling injuries. After all, Jay was Sean's best friend, and Degrassi had had enough death and misery within the year.

Her eyes glazed over.

"Emma," Toby interrupted, leaning over her computer station.

Emma snapped up. "What?"

"It's almost nine o'clock."

"Oh." She scrambled to print out her assignment. She would have to turn it in as it was.

Toby turned back to his web page, which had not changed a keystroke since the lab opened that morning.

"It's bizarre," Toby said. "What happened to Jay."

Bizarre was not the word Emma would have used to describe it. Unlucky, maybe, but nothing suggested the accident was unusual. Jay had been walking home drunk at some crazy hour at night. She wished Toby would stop overthinking every little thing that happened this summer.

"See you later," she mumbled. She made a mental note to have an actual talk with him later. He was taking his short-lived reunion with Kendra Mason way too seriously.

Grabbing her backpack, Emma dashed down the halls and slid into the classroom.

She briefly greeted a few classmates as she roamed down the aisle to her seat. Kendra was already in the classroom, with a poetry guide open in front of her. Emma huffed dismissively at the sight of the girl.

She tried to pay attention as Mrs. Lucas explained meter, but she found it exceedingly difficult to sit still. After class, she had to face Manny and Craig and she did not know how she would hide her anxiety. Toby's conspiracy theories were infecting her. The back of her neck burned, as if someone was staring at her. Emma flicked back her head several times, but everyone else was occupied with the lesson or with their daydreams. No one was paying any attention to her.

The class finally ended. Emma shoved her books into her backpack and streamed out with the rest of the students. Manny and Craig waved to her from down the hall. She started over to them.

She glimpsed Kendra from the corner of her eye. Kendra's gaze had landed her way and lingered. This stare was different from the malevolent scrutiny she felt during class, but it unnerved Emma all the same.

The backpack suddenly felt heavier. An intense heat seemed to spread behind her. Then she heard Craig shout. Some teens screamed as they fell away from her.

When Craig reached her, he yanked away her backpack, which Emma saw had erupted into flames. He threw it on the ground, grabbed the fire extinguisher and sprayed the flames, performing all of this at hyperspeed.

"Emma," Manny dashed to her friend's side. "Are you okay?"

Emma opened her mouth, trying to summon a casual response, but her voice had abandoned her.

Ms. Haksiopoulos, the principal, charged down the hall. "What happened?"

Someone explained about the backpack catching fire. Ms. Haksiopoulos quieted down the panicking students, saying, "I'm going to ask everyone to stay in the building until we find out more about this. Is anyone injured?"

"Emma?" Manny asked, concerned.

"I'm okay," Emma said hoarsely.

"Emma, Craig and Manny can take you to the nurse," Ms. Haksiopoulos permitted. "I want everyone else to stay in the hall."

"This way," Finn signaled. Cole should have guessed where the older boy would lead him.

Cole had just gotten a message from Kendra saying she was detained; Emma's backpack caught fire. He figured Finn would direct him to see the fire investigators and the police interrogating the students. Instead, they ended up in a secluded hallway by the science classrooms.

"This is where the guy got shot."

"Which one?" Cole asked.

"The shooter. Rick Murray." Finn stepped to the center of the hallway. "Wanna see?"

Cole swallowed. Don't show fear, he told himself. "See what?"

"How the shooter was disarmed?"

"That's okay," Cole said, relieved that his voice had not trembled. "I've got a good imagination."

Finn ignored him. He positioned himself with his legs apart. His hands drew out from his hooded sweatshirt.

"What are you dungs doing?" Atlas Boy called. His echo bounced down the hall.

"A demonstration." Finn said. "I'm the hero. Cole, you be the shooter. Rees, you're the girl."

"Hell, no. You be the girl." Atlas Boy argued.

"You don't know how to do it right, and I do." Finn continued his instructions. "All the girl has to do is stand between us. Now, Cole, you aim the gun."

"What gun?" Cole asked. A tremor slipped in here.

"Point your finger."

"I'd rather not," Cole said. Even if no actual gun was involved, this seemed disturbing.

"This idea sucks," Atlas Boy scoffed. To Cole, he said, "Let's get out of here."

"Running away?" Finn clucked. "That's just great. Then don't blame me if you come up against a psycho sniper and you don't know how to disarm him."

They dashed away. As they rounded the corner, they nearly ran down Toby.

"What are you guys doing out here?" Toby asked.

They hesitated, wondering if he overheard Finn's scenario of the shooting. Cole averted his gaze.

"What are you doing out here?" Atlas Boy snapped back, choosing the offensive.

Toby sighed. "Where's Kendra?"

"She's being questioned," Cole answered. "Emma's backpack caught fire."

"And she's being questioned?" Toby's voice hitched.

"They all are. The whole class." Cole took out his cell phone and read the message she had sent to him. "They're being lectured on why playing with fire is bad."

"Great," Toby said. His panic subsided. "Maybe she's done by now. Let's go check."

"Um," Cole hesitated again. He knew Kendra had estranged herself from Toby for one reason or another. She would not be thrilled with this intrusion.

They arrived to hear the tail end of the officer's instructions, which did sound like a lecture against playing with fire. Kendra and the other students looked bored out of their minds. Finally the officer concluded his talk and his partner chimed in to offer their nonemergency number if anybody had any knowledge of this "incident."

Toby, thankfully, made an inobtrusive exit, thus avoiding any clash between the ex-couple.

The group was finally released. Kendra lurched up from her seat on the floor against the lockers. No wonder so many dead people paraded through her house, she thought, with police officers taking up all that time to scold teenagers against starting fires instead of actually investigating crimes.

"We'd better get home," she said to Cole. "I need to find out about Jay. Are you coming, Rees?"

"I guess not," Atlas Boy spoke sullenly. "Dad's expecting me."

Kendra frowned. "Doesn't someone usually pick you up by now?" she asked thoughtfully.

"That stupid bitch Gillian."

Kendra hated when boys called a girl a bitch, but having just sat through twenty-five minutes of useless lecturing, she just asked, "Did she forget?"

"No." Atlas Boy's reply had a hint of smugness. She guessed that Atlas Boy was the one who failed to show up.

"OK," she revised her plans. "Let's stop at the cafe. Rees, you can call your dad and tell him to pick you up from there."

"Where's Emma?" Cole asked. He had scanned the crowd for her.

"Home or nurse's office," Kendra said. "She wouldn't be able to tell us anything."

"How come you've got a cell phone?" Atlas Boy asked Cole in his usual blunt way.

"It's just for this trip," Cole said. "For emergencies and stuff."

"Man." Atlas Boy wished out loud that he could go for a month long vacation like Cole.

Kendra ordered smoothies for the boys and herself. When Spinner emerged from the back room, she waved to him.

"I know," Spinner muttered. "Alex told me." Alex Nunez was Jay's former girlfriend but because they grew up in the same neighborhood, they remained good friends.

"Did she tell you anything else?" Kendra asked.

"He's going to recover." Spinner drove his gaze into his order pad. "That's it."

"That's good."

Spinner was suspicious of Kendra's questioning about Jay. He could not see why she would get so interested in Jay's accident. If he pursued it though, she would just ferret out his stupid paranoid belief that Jay was run down on purpose.

It was ridiculous. Nobody blamed Jay for getting involved in the prank that pushed Rick over the edge. Look at the way Emma Nelson ran to his comfort in the following months. Nobody at Degrassi relied on Spinner like that. Part of it was his doing. He closed himself off, terrified that they would learn that he set up Jimmy as a conspirator against Rick. They found out anyway - because Spinner was stupid enough to confess. Jay, on the other hand, coasted through all the punishment and accusations.

Kendra's phone bleeped. Spinner took advantage of that distraction to slip out from behind the counter.

"Hello."

A thick filmy static met her ear.

"Who is this?" Kendra asked with a crawling sense of dread in her stomach.

"Check the ID," the voice intoned mechanically.

She glanced at the screen. Spinner's phone number showed on the caller ID.

"Your timing sucks," she retorted. "Spinner's right across the room from me, so if you're trying to convince me it's him-"

"I couldn't convince you that." The mechanical voice seemed the chuckle. "The question is, can you convince anyone else?"

"I know several who aren't buying your crap." Before the voice could dismiss her boast with the fact that her one supporter was an eight-year-old, she asked, "What do you want?"

"I want them to suffer."

A drone sounded. The bastard had hung up.


	29. Chapter 29

"You look like your best friend got run over by a truck," Rick commented when Kendra and Cole finally arrived home.

Kendra glared at him.

"If you had a best friend, that is," Rick added weakly.

Kendra held the glare long enough to make Rick sink into an uncomfortable silence. "You really shouldn't try to be funny."

She left Cole to explain the day's events and stomped upstairs. She dumped her backpack on the floor and stripped off her outer tank top. While bending forward to search for a favorite T-shirt, she felt a blast of stale air.

"Get lost, Rick."

She let up her rummaging. He had not answered. He had not moved. Whoever was behind her was being unnaturally quiet, even for a dead person.

She unburied her arm from the dresser drawer, slowly enough not to give away her next move. She started to turn around.

A heavy object struck her shoulder.

Kendra fell off balance. She caught her fall, narrowly missing bashing her head on the side of the drawer, then slid to the floor.

Footsteps seemed to dash in all directions. There was more than one person running. Rick and Cole had heard her fall.

She writhed to obtain a better view of what hit her. The horseshoe lay on the carpeted floor. As for the dead person who threw it, he escaped unseen.

"Did you see him?" she asked Cole.

"No." Cole let in an inflection of worry. "Nobody came by the hall."

Rick held out his hand to help her up, but Kendra yanked away and stumbled up by herself. She knew it had not been Rick, but it occurred her that the attacker expected her to think it was him. She winced as her shoulder wrenched back.

"You've got a bruise," Cole suggested cautiously. "I'll get an ice pack."

"Fine."

"Do you need help . . ." Rick tried to offer.

"No." She avoided eye contact with him as she lurched to her bed and swung on top of the sheets

"Here." Cole dashed back into the room with the ice pack and a towel. He watched as Kendra contorted her good arm and blindly tried to place the pack on her bruise.

Rick took hold of the pack and steered it to the right spot.

"Don't," Kendra hissed.

"Just making it easier." Rick removed his hand, with some reluctance. Cole awkwardly looked around the room for the dead person who was in here minutes earlier.

"Should I call Spinner?" Cole asked.

"It's not that bad," Kendra told him. "I'll be up in an hour or two."

"You mean, get lost?" Rick translated jokingly.

Kendra winced again at the poor choice of words. "Take it how you want."

In the end, Cole stayed up in her room for that hour. It was Rick's idea: in case the dead person came back. Cole was not to tell Kendra that Rick asked him to act as her guard. Nor was he to ask about Kendra's discomfort around Rick. He obeyed both their wishes.

Instead he told Kendra his idea for Carolee.

They would mail her home. They had speculated buying a plane ticket to Johannesburg but it was far too expensive for the Masons' current financial state and they were not sure that would work. The mail would serve as a cheaper version of that plan.

Carolee had a ring -her wedding ring - which she often rotated around her finger when she reminisced about her life with her husband. The ring simple gold band with an ivy leaf engraving - there was no stone. "Ivy symbolizes togetherness," Carolee confided. "Gems don't understand togetherness, plants do."

If they mailed the ring back to her husband, Carolee could travel along with it and return to him. Ghosts often attached themselves to objects, so the physical size of the conveyance should not need to be any larger than the object the dead girl attached to. They had to get Carolee to agree to the plan. As far as either of them could ferret out, Carolee feared that her husband would reject her once she returned home.

Carolee greeted their plan with reluctance - not too surprising as Cole had not worked out many of the finer details. Kendra mulled over it the next morning when she trooped to the garage the next morning. She had guessed the source of Carolee's fear was the possibility that her husband would not forgive her. Carolee had faced sexual assault from the gang before they killed her; in her part of the world, men often viewed women who endured rape as unfaithful. Kendra had abstained elaborating on that reason to Cole, more out of Carolee's refusal to confide that detail to him.

No matter how hard Kendra focused on this plan, the other dead person's presence clung determinedly on her mind. She found herself watching shadows, anticipating without appearing to anticipate his next bold move. Between the planning and the anticipating she was utterly exhausted.

So Kendra decided to visit Jay at the hospital, partly because if she did not leave the house, she was going to lose her sanity. Spinner had the car, so she routed her bike out. They had given up the pretense that the car was safer in the garage, so the bikes no longer crowded by the hastily repaired wall. Kendra cast a wary glance toward that wall before examining her bike for damage.

The tire had blown: the rubber puddled around the wheel deeply enough that the rim touched the ground. Kendra started to drag it back in the garage, but winced as her impatient yank strained her sore shoulder.

"Need help?" Rick asked.

"No." Kendra gritted her teeth. She carefully pushed her bike back in the garage and wheeled out Spinner's. Rick gripped the handlebars.

"You don't have to-"

"It's easier if I hold it," Rick said calmly to her protests.

Kendra scowled as she knelt to check Spinner's tires.

"Afraid I tampered with the bike?"

"Spinner hasn't ridden this bike since he was fourteen," Kendra snapped back. "I'm checking for dings from when the wall collapsed."

"Oh, right." Rick replied. "So nice to know I'm not a suspect anymore."

"I didn't say that." Kendra's voice came out casually, though she cringed at the slight wobble in her words.

Rick tightened his grip on the handlebars.

"I never lied about what I did," he quietly pointed out.

Kendra stood and faced him. "Yes, you were very honest about how you tried to kill Jimmy and Emma."

"Are you going to hold that against me forever?" Rick asked. "I told you over and over how sorry I am. If there is any way I could take it back, I would."

She knew that. "I don't want to have this conversation now. Besides, I'm not the one you need to convince."

"How the hell am I supposed to convince anyone else when I'm not allowed near them?" Rick blew up. He released the bike. Kendra grabbed it before it fell over.

Rick paced up the driveway.

"So this is what you still think. After all this time together. Here I thought that you actually felt . . .something like what I feel."

_We are not having this conversation_, Kendra vowed silently. While it was not such a bizarre admission on Rick's part; he seemed to fall in love as often as other people changed their clothes. If Kendra was the only girl he talked to all year, then of course he might think himself infatuated with her.

"We're not gonna be a couple," Kendra stated. One clandestine kiss did not make a relationship. They were not - would never be - a couple.

"Why not?" He loomed back over her.

She rolled her eyes. "You're dead."

"That's not the only reason," Rick commented, his eyes narrowed suspiciously.

"It's reason enough." Kendra mounted the bike, then turned to face him again, to convince him of her earnest resolve. "Even if you miraculously overcame your other issues, that's what it comes down to. Are you going to take me to the school dance? Are you going to buy me sodas at the soda fountain? How would any of this be possible?"

Rick paused. "Did Toby buy you sodas?"

"I always paid for my own half," Kendra answered. "That's not the point. Don't forget that death is a permanent state.

She started to coast down the driveway when Rick retorted. "Don't see why you can't have a relationship with a dead guy. You sure as hell aren't having any with the living ones."

Kendra braked. "What?"

"Don't act so surprised, Kendra," Rick scoffed. "You dumped Toby because he got a little too close to find out your ability, even though you pretend its no big secret. And how come you don't have any of your own friends?"

"I have friends."

"You have people you talk to during school. Those are acquaintances. The only living person you hang out with outside of school is Spinner. Of course you haven't told Spinner. You could have told him long before the shooting and you didn't. Why don't you want him to know? Is it because you're afraid?"

"That's none of your business," Kendra warned through her clenched jaw, but Rick continued his vicious rant.

"Nobody even knew you were Spinner's sister until you started dating Toby. What does that tell you?"

Kendra slammed her foot on the driveway and shoved off, pedaling quickly away from his accusations.

She passed through her neighborhood, her fury expended. When she reached a heavily wooded yard, she drifted to a stop. Her heavy tearful breaths made it impossible to travel any farther.

She let the bike collapse on the dirt and crawled to a spot by the tree, out of view of any casual passers-by. She wrapped her arms tightly around her leg, which did nothing to soothe her throbbing shoulder, and willed herself to stop shaking.


	30. Chapter 30

How dare Rick accused her of pushing away her living friends, when it was his fault she had to detach herself from them? She had had no difficulties dividing her life from the dead people. The other dead people were not dead because they tried to harm her classmates. The other dead people had not, in their lives, befriended her ex-boyfriend. They had not shot her brother's best friend in revenge for what her brother did. They had not been the cause of the greatest horror her school had ever faced.

She remembered that day, hearing it about the shooting in World History. She heard about it from the intercom. Mr. Yates, the teacher, ordered the class to remain in the room until they heard it was safe. Some of the kids panicked, convinced that they would be sitting ducks for the killer. Kendra just stared at the door, waiting for the dead classmates to roam in, lost and demanding explanations.

Another teacher came by and told Mr. Yates about the incident. The danger was over, only one other student was shot and Rick Murray was the shooter. The boy sitting next to her leaned over to her and said, "Hey Kendra, isn't your ex buddy-buddy with that guy?"

"Shut it, Paul."

The teachers overheard Paul's question and looked her way. Suddenly she remembered how often Spinner had bullied Rick. Was Mrs. Moyers going to summon her out of the classroom and tell her Spinner was shot? Or was she going to find out before then, when Spinner's ghost flung itself through the classroom door?

But Mrs. Moyers only said "If anyone has any information that could help us, and the police, sort out this incident, please come to the front office. Otherwise all classes are dismissed for the day." Then, to Kendra's relief, she left. She knew it was not Spinner that was shot at least; if it was, Mrs. Moyers would have had to tell her.

On the way out, she approached several students, asking who was shot. Eventually she ran into Liberty, who revealed it was Jimmy, then optimistically pointed out he was still alive when she last heard. Liberty also told her that Emma was almost shot but Kendra did not care about "almost shot" at the moment. She was preparing herself for when she would encounter the victims, Jimmy or Rick. The scare of speculating that Spinner was Rick's target had distracted her from the idea that she would also encounter Rick, and god knows what state he would be in.

She cut off Liberty's chatter and wandered off, watching the hallways for a rampaging dead Rick. She circled around, hoping she could intervene before - before whatever it was she needed to prevent happened: an unexplained accident, maybe. She saw the hall where Rick died, cordoned with yellow tape and smeared with a pool of blood. She remembered thinking the splatter was unusually contained, assuming that, like the other school shooters, Rick had taken his own life. Then she traveled to the courtyard.

There was Rick, only he was not angry or rampaging. He stood among a small cluster of sophomores, trying desperately to get their attention.

He saw her staring and rushed over to her.

"Kendra, what's going on?"

She froze, too stunned to even try to move her lips.

"Are you all right?" Rick asked, concerned. He gently pressed his hand on her arm. "What happened? I heard there was a shooting. Who's hurt?"

Anger welled up within her but it could not penetrate the ice cold shock of his behavior. She had the urge to shake off his comforting hand.

"You need to sit down," Rick said. He guided her several feet to the steps. "Should I get someone?"

Kendra shook her head. Despite his insistent tug, she refused to sit down. His blood transferred onto her sleeve. She clenched her fist, as if that would hide the stain.

"Tell me what happened," Rick ordered. He looked down, spotted the blood. "You're hurt. What . . .?"

"Stop it!"

The other students glanced over at her, but their interest was not as prolonged as it would have been any other day. They just assumed she was venting her grief and went on with venting theirs.

"There's blood on your sleeve," Rick said, the frantic pace of his chatter slowing.

Kendra whirled around and sprinted away. She ran until the school was well out of sight. The residential street was quiet, for which she was plenty grateful. No one to expect her to deliver answers to their nosy questions. She smeared her bloody sleeve against her forehead.

Rick soon caught up with her.

"Go away."

"What's going on, Kendra?" Rick squared himself in front of her. He braced her shoulder. "Was it a school shooting? Was someone killed? Who was the shooter?"

He shook her.

"Who was the shooter?"

She told him.


	31. Chapter 31

The doorbell rang.

Cole set down the game controller and peered out the window. Craig stood on the steps with Angie.

"Probably plans to kill you," FaceEater joked.

The possibility might not be as absurd as FaceEater suggested, but if Angie was with him, Craig could not be planning anything too awful.

He wrested open the door.

"Hi, Cole," Angie chirped.

"Where's Kendra?" Craig got right to the point.

"Not here," Cole said.

Craig waited for a more detailed explanation. When Cole did not speak further, he said, "Do you mind if I wait here for her? It's important."

"I don't know . . ."

"I know her parents aren't home," Craig stated.

Cole shrugged and backed from the door.

Angie skipped in. She was wearing a pink backpack. "Guess what. I brought my smelly markers."

Craig interrupted, "On second thought, maybe you'll answer more honestly than she will."

"Craig." Angie placed her hands on her hips "I want to play with Cole."

"In a minute. First we need to have a serious talk."

"Like Daddy did?" Angie's brows raised in curiosity and concern. "Is a dinosaur hurting Kendra and Spinner?"

"That's what I'm trying to find out," Craig said.

"There isn't," Cole said. Belatedly he realized that he was not supposed to know about Craig's father. Craig frowned, as if figuring out how much Kendra blabbed about his family secrets.

"How'd you get that scratch?" Craig finally asked.

Cole rubbed at the shallow, mostly healed scar on his cheek. He did not think anyone could even see it. He shrugged.

"Did your aunt or uncle do that?" Craig asked.

"No."

"Spinner? Kendra?"

"No." Because Craig was not giving up without an explanation, Cole said, "It was a tree branch."

"It looks like a belt lash."

Cole shrugged again, as if he would not know what a belt lash looked like.

"Can we play now?" Angie asked, trying to rein in her patience.

"Sorry, Ang," Craig sighed. "Toby made me promise to check up on them." Eyeing Cole, he ordered, "You're not to tell Kendra."

"Okay," Cole agreed. "But I can't be held responsible if she finds out on her own."

Craig grimaced Kendra's reputation was not forgotten.

"What about Spinner's accident?" Craig asked. "Toby's convinced it wasn't an accident."

"I don't know," Cole lied. "Spinner doesn't remember what happened and no one else was there."

"It was Hannibal Lector," FaceEater chimed in.

Cole turned his head, not because he believed the attacker was Hannibal Lector but because it occurred to him that FaceEater, or Carolee or Rick, might have seen Spinner's fall.

"Where's your paper?" Angie asked, busying herself in setting up her markers.

"I'll get it," Cole volunteered. Craig swiveled away, accepting the serious conversation as finished.

He ran upstairs to get a stack of computer paper. When FaceEater appeared again, Cole whispered, "Did you see Spinner fall down the stairs?"

"Dude was tweaking," FaceEater replied.

"Who?"

"Dunno."

"Not Spinner, though."

"No, the other dude. The one stomping all over the house."

Cole paused. FaceEater saw him? It was possible; FaceEater spent half his time in a high. Drugs often provided an altered state for ordinary people to see the dead. The trouble was filtering out the real apparitions from the hallucinations, so those encounters were not reliable.

"What did he look like?" Cole asked anyway.

FaceEater twisted his lips as he tried to remember. "He was wearing black."

"How can you not have a favorite color?" Angie admonished. "Everyone has a favorite color."

Cole rotated the banana-scented marker in his hand. As far as he could remember, he never had a favorite color, but that could not be as odd as Angie professed. He suspected that half the time, a kid chose a color at random if asked.

Angie declared her undying allegiance to blue, because it was "sparkly." To prove it, she produced a drawing of a squid in the ocean in three shades of blue, with touches of green and purple. The heavy layers of ink bled through the paper.

He replaced the yellow marker and drew out the black. A tart licorice scent wafted up from his small outline of a blotted shadow of a person. An indistinguishable, harmless looking person; Cole could not seem to shape it to the image stuck in his mind.

A few minutes later, Kendra dragged herself through the side door, only to meet Craig waiting for her. She stifled a groan. She had never made it to the hospital to see Jay, as it was clear she was not fit for human company. At least she had the foresight to stop at a public restroom and rinse away the evidence that she had been crying.

Nevertheless, Craig noticed something odd with her demeanor. He also noticed that she favored her right shoulder. Toby's suspicions no longer seemed so farfetched.

"Can we talk?" Craig asked gently.

With an arched eyebrow, Kendra muttered, "Toby must have put you up to this."

_At least her mind was still sharp_, Craig assessed. He admitted, "I didn't believe him at first . . ."

He broke off. Kendra waited patiently for him to finish.

"Believe what?" she finally asked.

"He said that you and Spinner were in danger. Cole too."

"I already talked to Joey about this," Kendra told him.

"I know. Joey suggested that Spinner go to a counselor." Craig paused. "Did he?"

"What business of that is yours?" If Joey had asked, she would have answered differently, but she saw no reason to satisfy Craig's concern, even if he was only acting as Joey's emissary.

"That depends. Was Spinner's falling down the stairs an accident?"

"I don't know. Why don't you ask him?" Kendra challenged.

"I'm not messing around, Kendra," Craig shouted. He had managed to rein in his temper so far, because he did not want to scare her out of confiding in him, but all that earned him was her snide attitude. "I know you think I'm being unfair to Spinner but if he's in trouble, you need to tell someone."

"Like I said," she imparted, "why don't you ask him?"

She hobbled upstairs.

Craig tromped back into the kitchen and asked about Kendra's shoulder.

Cole's poker face returned. "I don't know."

"Okay," Craig sighed. "I get that you guys don't trust me. That's fine. But if something is wrong, you've got to tell someone. Joey or Toby or Manny. Just because your aunt and uncle won't listen, it doesn't mean no one else will."

"I trust you, Craig," Angie assured him.

Craig forced on a smile. "Thanks, Angie."

Because Craig appeared so defeated, Cole offered his opinion. "Kendra has a point. Why don't you ask Spinner what's going on?"

"You heard that?"

"Noise drifts this way," was Cole's explanation.

"It's . . ." Craig started to say _It's complicated_, but that sounded lame even to him. "I might."

Toby was not surprised to find Craig waiting outside when he arrived home.

"Took you long enough," Craig commented stiffly.

Craig linked to Toby mainly through Ashley, Toby's stepsister and Craig's former girlfriend, and the two of them had not spoken to each other since Ashley left for England for the year. At this moment, Craig demonstrated some discomfort of sitting outside Ashley's house by drumming his hand on his shaking knee.

"Sorry, I was at Emma's."

Craig's face softened. Emma was a common friend between them; unlike with Ashley, this friendship was unmarred by complicated romances. Craig acted more as Emma's brother than as her suitor.

"How is she?" Craig asked.

"Better," Toby explained. "She's trying to salvage her homework so I'd say . . . better."

That concern resolved, Craig spoke up, "You were right. Something is going on there. At the Masons'. Kendra's been hurt."

Toby hissed. "What happened?"

Craig explained about her shoulder "She won't talk. Neither will the kid."

"Cole might not know about it," Toby pointed out. "At least not enough of it."

"Oh, he knows." Craig paused. "In fact, I'm wondering if the kid's behind this."

"What?" Toby tried to disguise his skepticism. "Why?"

"I don't know why." Craig relaxed his knee, but the trembling of his hands grew more pronounced. "You hear about these sociopaths in the news. People who are unable to feel any sympathy or care for anyone else. They're born that way. Maybe he's one of them.

"There's something off about that kid. He's very controlled, like interactions with other people are new to him. It makes me nervous that Angie is so crazy about him too."

Toby had noticed that, but he put it down to the boy's being away from his home for the first time. Craig could easily forget, in the proximity of a lively kid like Angie, that not all kids were loud and outgoing.

"That doesn't mean he's Damien Thorn," Toby argued weakly.

"Maybe not, but have you noticed that none of this stuff started happening until he came here?"

Toby did not quite agree. Craig would not know this, because he hardly spent any time with Kendra, but weird things seemed to surround her. When he was around her, he suffered lapses of his conscious behavior: losing things more often, hearing bangs and creaks he could not locate. Granted, the events this summer ranked far above those minor oddities, but . . .

. . . but it didn't explain why Kendra had withdrawn from him last year.

"What are you going to do?" Toby asked.

"Not much I can do," Craig sighed. "Sorry but she won't talk to me. I bet Spinner won't either. One thing's for sure, I'm not bringing Angie back there again. I shouldn't have brought her along today."


	32. Chapter 32

Carolee finally consented to their plan. Cole was helping her write a letter to send along with her ring to her husband. Progress was slow because Carolee was weeping so much. Kendra, meanwhile, concentrated on her sketchbook.

Spinner crashed into the living room.

"Were you going through my email?"

"No." Kendra and Cole chorused.

Spinner hovered for a minute; he sensed they were lying. When he could not figure out a way to prove it, he marched back upstairs.

Cole's phone bleeped. Kendra jumped, taken aback at the volume, while Carolee blinked distractedly.

"One second." Cole hopped up He peeked at the ID; the number had a Philadelphia code.

"Hello, Cole," a familiar male voice greeted. "This is Detective Brown. Is this a good time to talk?"

"Yes." Cole was puzzled. Detective Brown's voice held a strange anxiety that Cole did not normally hear. "Is everything okay?"

"Things here are fine. I'm wondering about over there. The toxicology results came in on the sample you sent in."

_So soon?_ Detective Brown had warned over and over that the tests may take weeks. "That was fast," he answered dumbfoundedly.

"We ruled out many of the possible substances, which the lab techs hate to do, but apparently they searched through rat poisons first."

Cole could guess the results. "So it was rat poison."

"Have you ever heard of something called TETS? T-E-T-S or tetramine. Maybe one of your people has mentioned it."

"No," Cole said apologetically.

"It's a highly toxic rat poison. It's been banned in nearly every country in the world but some countries still produce it illegally. A small dose, seven to ten milligrams, leads to seizures and coma, and it usually kills within three hours. There is no known antidote."

Cole paused to absorb the rush of information. Each new fact presented reminded him how close he and the Masons could have come to dying.

Detective Brown had similar grave views. "Did you get all that?" When Cole replied yes, he pressed on. "I think you should advise the family to contact the local police. They need to report the harassment."

"What if the culprit is someone the police can't catch?" Cole asked.

"Worry about the family's safety first, okay? If they report the incidents, the police can put out some measures to protect them, maybe until it stops," Detective Brown said optimistically. "I don't know anything about the other incidents or how quickly they escalated but this one is serious. TETS is not a common substance: whoever added it knew what they were doing. The only reason they would be using it was if they planned on killing somebody."

Cole thanked him. He hung up and shuffled back to the living room.

"Bad news?" Kendra said.

"It's TETS." Kendra had not heard of the toxin either, but when Cole briefly repeated its deadly properties, she rose her head in alarm.

"Seizures and death. Just great," she echoed hollowly. "Wonder how Mom would react if she found out she owed her life to a toy rat." The nature of her family's narrow escape sank in as she spoke those words and she collapsed back on the couch.

"But you all are okay," Carolee insisted. Her letter momentarily forgotten, she tried to console them.

A loud pop interrupted them, followed by the sonic shatter of glass.

The crash had come from upstairs.

Kendra recovered from her inertia and dashed up the stairs.

"Spinner!" she shouted. "Spinner!"

It seemed like ages before he responded with a grumpy "What?"

Kendra located him in Cole's room. He had gotten up from the computer and inspected the shattered window.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah. Of course." Spinner withdrew from the window. "Overreacting again?"

"What was it?" Cole asked.

"Some butthole throwing a rock through the window as they drove by," Spinner answered, downplaying the coincidence that it would be his property that was attacked again.

Kendra knelt by the broken glass. She lifted up a singed bundle of rags and opened it. In the rags nestled several spent firecrackers. "Explains the popping."

A paper floated loose from the bundle. Before either Kendra or Cole could act, Spinner snatched it up and read it.

"Oh shit." Spinner wadded up the paper and stuffed it in his pocket.

"What was that?"

"Nothing." He grabbed the bundle from Kendra. "I'll take care of this."

When he stormed out of the room, Kendra groaned. Whenever a guy, any guy, said "_I'll take care of thi_s," it was never good.

"Wait, Spinner," she called. She raced downstairs. "Don't throw that away. We might need it for evidence."

Spinner had already turned on the faucet on the kitchen sink. "Evidence of what?"

"Of the moron that threw a bunch of firecrackers through the window."

"It was just some random jerk," Spinner declared. "The police won't waste their time searching for him."

"That note might reveal something."

"It doesn't. And even if it did, the police aren't going to give it CSI treatment for a broken window."

"What about insurance?" Kendra scrambled. "They won't pay out unless we make a police report."

"Dad's already complaining that our insurance is at crack neighborhood status. They won't cover anything." Spinner shook his head. "Forget the police, Kendra. This is nothing."

He filled the sink and submerged the firecrackers.

"Just be careful, okay?" Kendra pleaded.

Spinner froze, suppressing a recognizable shudder through his body. He forced out a humoring tone.

"'Course," he said simply.

"Found it," FaceEater announced to the cousins, who were holed up in Cole's room. He was enjoying playing detective.

Kendra noticed he was empty handed. "Where is the note?"

"Shredded. Got to read it, though." FaceEater had sneaked up behind Spinner as he took out the note in the privacy of his room and tore it to tiny pieces.

"What did it say?"

FaceEater's grin fell. The sober threat of the note dampened the thrill of his detective game.

He repeated the message.

"_'I haven't forgotten.'_"

Kendra weighed her options. There had been at least one serious attempt on Spinner's life. On all their lives. They could not risk waiting any longer to do something about it.

She and Cole had exhausted all the possibilities, and they had come no closer to discovering the identity of the unseen ghost. The pool of suspects was endless. Eliminating one or two from the billions of dead people throughout history proved a dauntingly futile task.

If Kendra was going to confide in anyone, she had to be one hundred percent certain that the assailant was not Rick. She tried to delay her inevitable confession by summoning some point of doubt in Rick's case. She could not find one. The presence of the ghost that had flung a horseshoe at her dispelled those doubts once and for all, though outwardly she pretended differently. From that encounter, she had extracted the impression that the ghost wanted her to think it was Rick. The dead person must have been watching her for a long time, that he picked up her conflicted relationship with her dead classmate.

She could not forget that the dead person was watching her closely. Sooner or later she would slip up, accidentally reveal her true suspicions.

The urgency did not erase the other risks she was about to take. In any real scenario, she would be met with extreme skepticism and doubts about her mental health. But keeping secrets was no longer an option. Whatever the dead person's motives were, they had been extremely lucky so far. No one had died or become irreparably injured. She could not rely on that luck to hold.

Kendra pounded up the stoop of the house and pressed the doorbell.

After a moment, Toby thrust open the door.

"I need your help."


	33. Chapter 33

Kendra and Toby sat on the overstuffed couch in his den. She explained the things that had happened: the near drowning, the collapsed wall. She finished with the poisoned pie.

"Did you call the police?" Toby asked.

A police officer was told, so Kendra said yes. "They can't really do anything."

"They can investigate. Poisoned pies don't just appear out of thin air."

"I don't think the police would find the person doing this."

"They might," Toby encouraged. "You never know what they might find."

Kendra was stalling. Usually she went straight to the point.. Her nature did not allow her too be squeamish about the unpleasant facts of life. This was not even new territory, not exactly. She had revealed this secret hundreds of times in her life. The dead reacted just as the living would, with disbelief. But with the dead, her sanity proved itself; once she ripped away the veil of denial, even the most skeptical person would start to notice he had fallen out of sync with the living world.

Convincing Toby would take more work.

Kendra noticed her hands were shaking. She crammed them into fists and hid them below her knees. Toby, of course, noticed.

"You might not believe this ." She was watching his reaction. He froze in place, breathing soundlessly so he did not interrupt her. His brows twitched.

"I'd believe you, Kendra," he said sincerely. Sincerity did not ease her nerves much. He had no idea what he was getting in to.

"The person who's doing this is not exactly alive."

He was still frozen, still waiting for the blow of her hard truth.

"Sometimes, I . . . sense people. People who are dead. This person is different. I don't know exactly who he is, but he's dangerous."

"So he's a ghost," Toby repeated. He still had not let in a full breath.

"Yes."

"Are you sure?" Toby shot up from his chair. He swayed, as if he was not sure whether to approach her or back away from her. "It's really someone . . . it's Cole, isn't it?"

"What's Cole?" Kendra asked.

"He's the one doing this, right?"

Kendra shook her head in protest.

"Eight-year-olds can stage accidents. They can put obstacles on the stairs and rat poison in pies. This stuff started happening just when he arrived here, right?"

"You're not listening." She stepped over to him. "It's not Cole. It was a freaking ghost. Do you think any living human could manage to sneak around and pull all this without being seen? Do you think Jay, as drunk as he was, would miss an extra person hanging around the dock? Or when Emma's backpack was set on fire, nobody would have noticed a kid lurking in the hall?"

"But, ghosts?" Toby echoed. He flinched away. "Ghosts? That's impossible."

"And Spinner and I getting beat up by an eight-year-old isn't?"

"No . . ." He squeezed his eyes shut. "There's got to be another explanation. It's got to be a trick."

"It's not a trick." This fresh perspective idea was not working. Toby could not seem to get past the "ghost" part of the mess, and she was an idiot for expecting him to act any differently.

"Are you sure?" Toby questioned again. "There's no other explanation?"

He had neatly forgotten that she told him she could see other ghosts. Should she remind him? She hoped not to call attention to the other dead people, instead to focus on the one that posed an immediate threat.

"This isn't the first ghost I've encountered," Kendra said. She was afraid to add more, lest it lead back to Rick. She would prefer to leave that secret unbreached, at least until Toby stopped hyperventilating.

"But how . . ."

There were so many directions that unfinished question could go. Toby, maddeningly enough, left it unfinished. His disbelief seemed to be melting away, though Kendra could be misinterpreting his blinks of comprehension.

"This is the first time something like this has happened," she explained. "They usually don't go after other -"

"So this is what you've been keeping from me?" he blurted out.

"Toby, I get this is new and everything, but this isn't about you. This person is dangerous, remember? I need to stop him."

A long silence passed as she waited for Toby to regain some of his senses. He wandered back to the couch, his eyes lowered to the ground. Away from her. Kendra stayed where she was.

"Why would anyone that is dead want to . . ." His voice shrank. The connection between the attacks on Spinner and Emma slammed into him.

Aware that the realization left him voiceless, Kendra spoke up. "It isn't Rick."

Completely wrecked, Toby lowered himself on the couch, gingerly like an old man. Kendra did not try to approach him.

"You saw him," he stated. Still, he would not look her way.

"Rick's not the culprit," Kendra echoed firmly. She pursued Toby's avoiding gaze, bidding him to understand the truth.

Toby leaned forward, resting his forehead on his clasped hands.

"Are you all right?" Kendra said.

"What did you expect?" he mumbled, his clenched jaw giving an angry edge to his reply.

Kendra swiped her hand at her denim shorts pocket. "I should leave," she suggested.

He grunted pitifully. Kendra dawdled a minute, but she could not think of anything comforting to say.

She saw herself out.

FaceEater lay outside in the Isaacs' front yard. He lay flat and unmoving, staring up at the sky as if in a drugged trance.

Kendra was not comfortable leaving him lying there. She crossed the lawn and kicked at his ribs. "Get up."

"Cloud up there looks like a snail," FaceEater drawled.

"Up," Kendra repeated. She pushed her foot under his back and kicked him up.

He squinted. When he finally recognized Kendra, he asked, "How'd he take it?"

Of all the things that floated by him in his oblivious state, he zeroed in on this.

"As expected," Kendra said. She kicked at him again. "Come on, I'm not letting you sleep out here."

A curtain in Toby's house flapped against the windowpane.

"Shit."

_He's in the house._

After giving FaceEater one last authoritative kick, Kendra dashed back through the front door.

Toby was still slumped on the couch.

"Were you at the window?" she asked.

"No," He finally lifted his head. "What's going on?"

Heavy footsteps pounded through the kitchen. Chairs knocked against walls as the unseen dead guy rushed through to the back door.

Kendra raced after him. But she was too late. The back door stood open. So did the pantry door. A couple of chairs teetered on their sides.

Toby came in behind her. "Holy shit," he coughed out.

Kendra whipped her head in all directions. "I think he left," she finally said.

"Who left?" Toby strode over to the table and realigned the chairs in their proper places.

Kendra focused on the table. The dead person did not need to pass by the table to escape through the back door. He deliberately made this mess.

Toby noticed Kendra had not answered his question. "Who was in here?" he repeated.

"I don't his name," she said. She relaxed her voice before she continued. "I think it's the same guy."


	34. Chapter 34

Emma walked out of the bookstore, with a bag carrying all her replacement texts for the summer.

She had not lost too much of her work. She had already received grades for most of the papers and exercises that had been destroyed. She cleaned out her folders and notebooks before each new term, unlike some of her classmates, who just let their papers pile up until they burst out of their pockets. She could make up her journal entries.

The only costly thing she had to replace was her graphing calculator, and she was not sure it was the fire that had broken it.

When the police returned her bag, she tested her calculator. It had appeared intact, and the fire experts said the fire could not have gotten hot enough to melt the plastic casing. When she turned it on, however, the screen whited out. Then one word scrolled onto the screen.

BANG

Emma could not activate any of the functions. Any attempt she made was greeted with the same message.

BANG

The fire had done something to the calculator: fried its circuits, melted its battery. What kind of fire, though, would produce that incessant screen that showed nothing except that word?

BANG

Her stepfather waited in the car in the parking lot. Mr. Simpson, known to Emma's closer friends by his high school nickname Snake, was also a teacher at Degrassi. After Emma picked up her books, Snake was going to drive Emma to Best Buy to buy a new calculator. One that would not say BANG when she switched it on.

Emma laced her arm through her canvas shopping bag and stepped to the curb.

A sudden screech pierced the air. Emma glanced to the side. A white van zoomed at her. It veered towards the curb where Emma planted her heels.

Her limbs froze, just like they had when her backpack ignited in the hallway. It crossed her mind to dash back to the school, to turn and run but there was no time.

She should jump, or run, or . . . there had to be something that would soften the blow of the bumper as it rammed into her fragile knees. The car was headed towards her, there had to be something she could do to save herself.

_Is this what Jay Hobart saw? Did he see the car coming before it plowed through him, snapping his legs like twigs?_

Just as its grill came close enough to kiss her knees, the van swerved. It passed her, scraping the air around her but miraculously leaving her untouched. Emma could only watch, stunned as it bounced off.

"Emma!" Snake shouted as he ran up to the curb. He grabbed her by the shoulders. "Emma, are you all right?"

Emma breathed in.

"Emma, answer me please," Snake pleaded.

"I'm okay," she said. Her voice shook, but she managed not to scream or cry or vomit.

The pavement under her seemed to sway. Snake caught her as her knees buckled.

"Here, I'll take your bag. We'll go to the car." Snake instructed. Emma swallowed her ludicrous compulsion to argue against him. She could get to the car herself, she was sure.

Her legs thought differently; they wobbled with every step she took.

Snake helped her to the passenger seat. Then he pulled out his cell phone to call the police.

"No!" Emma protested.

Snake drew away his thumb from the emergency button. "We should report this guy."

"I didn't see-" Emma gulped. "-his license plate"

"It doesn't matter," Snake maintained. "We'll just tell them what we did see."

"No!" Emma screamed. The thought of running to the police again, like some lunatic who kept bringing in trouble, was too much. Her stomach roiled. She pushed open the door and stumbled out. Bending over, she threw up, retching painfully until she was empty.

"I just want to go home," she said, wiping her mouth.

Snake nodded, seeing that his stepdaughter was in no shape for an interview. "Okay."

Toby waited at the stoop while Kendra checked her house.

He was not sure why he came with her to her place. After the emergency of his unknown guest, a stifling silence wedged between them. While he completely believed her (how could he not, when his kitchen furniture rearranged itself in such a convincing manner?) they had other unresolved issues.

Kendra listened at the hall for any stray sounds. As it turned out, not only was the house free from the unseen dead person's presence, it was utterly empty. FaceEater was accounted for; he had stopped to examine some oddly shaped mushroom in the yard across the street. But Rick and Carolee had not shown up.

Nor had Cole.

She signaled to Toby it was safe and headed into the kitchen.

Rick sat at the kitchen table. "Hey. Cole said to tell-"

He cut himself off ashamedly when Toby entered the room.

"I'll leave," he said apologetically, slowly rising so he did not accidentally bump the chair.

"No," Kendra voiced. "Stay."

Toby twisted his head in her direction.

"Are you sure?" Rick asked.

Kendra nodded.

"Who's here?" Toby asked quietly, evenly.

"Rick."

Toby gave another sucker-punched breath. He steadied himself by leaning on the counter.

"What did Cole say?" Kendra turned her attention back to Rick.

"Umm" Rick swiped his palm at his chin. "He went with Spinner to see Jay at the hospital. It's written down somewhere."

"Oh." Kendra spotted a Post-It stuck on the refrigerator.

"Rick?" Toby asked. He was not freaking out this time.

"Tell him hi," Rick instructed.

"He says hi."

Anger Toby had never realized he had boomed out of him. "I want to know what the hell you were thinking. Why did you go to school with a gun? Were you really going to kill them? Why-"

Once he reached an anguished octave, he stopped talking.

"I don't know," Rick answered, sneaking a glance at Kendra. They had not talked about that first hour of his afterlife, when the memory of the shooting had been wiped clean from his mind.

"He doesn't know," Kendra echoed.

"Jimmy could have died. You almost shot Emma."

"I'm not happy with what I did," Rick said, without a trace of defensiveness.

Kendra repeated that for Toby. Toby released his grasp of support from the counter, letting his arms fall by his sides.

"Do you want something to drink?" Kendra asked. Though Toby had not answered, she filled a glass with water and held it to him. Toby refused to take it, not trusting his motor skills enough to hold the glass. He shook his head and Kendra set it on the counter.

"So he - you - have been here this whole time?" Toby asked, some vehemence returning.

"More or less," Rick said.

"It was my decision," Kendra said. "You didn't even know about this. No one did. I didn't want to make things worse."

Maybe Toby was beginning to accept this whole idea. He thought of how he might have responded if Kendra tried to tell him, right after the shooting, that Rick's ghost was hanging around her. Certainly no better than he had just now. But she could have told him before. They were together for two years, and while she could not have foreseen the shooting, two years was enough time for her to trust him with her secret.

"She's not exactly a trusting person," Rick quipped, forgetting that Toby could not hear him. "Bet you didn't know her favorite show is _KimPossible_."

Kendra sent him a withering look.

"Right, don't mess with the interpreter," Rick mumbled.

"How does this work?" Toby asked. He addressed both of them. As he talked, he glanced towards the spot where Kendra kept looking , but he figured his aim was slightly off. "Do you stay here all the time or do you follow Kendra around?"

"Either." Rick explained. "I can branch out some." His interest in exploring the world unseen had grown old within a week. Just watching, with virtually no interaction with anybody, would become awkward and monotonous.

Kendra translated his short answer, adding, "We agreed he's not allowed near Spinner or Emma or anyone associated with the shooting."

"Meaning she blackmailed me," Rick joked.

"Oh." Toby wondered if his name had been on that list. Would it be worse if he was or if he wasn't? He decided he really did not want to know.

"Speaking of Spinner and Emma," Kendra said pointedly.

"Right," Toby remembered. "Um, I guess we should revise our suspect list."

An hour in, they augmented the list slightly, from Emma's end (as Toby knew Emma for much longer than either Kendra or Rick.) Those added names were as much of a stretch as Principal Raditch: long dead relatives from Emma's father's side,

Rick listened to them deliberate. He rapped his knuckles on the table, which Toby did not hear and Kendra tuned out. Then he spoke up.

"Suppose," Rick paused, an automatic warning that Kendra was not going to like what he said. "Suppose the target is not Spinner or Emma."

"What do you mean?" Kendra said impatiently.

Rick met her eyes. "I think the target is you, Kendra."

"No." Kendra shook her head. "No."

"What's he saying?" Toby interrupted.

She told him, reluctantly, "He thinks I'm the link, not Emma or Spinner. It's not possible. I wasn't even attacked-"

"The horseshoe," Toby reminded her.

"He didn't plan that. He had to make an escape without being seen."

"He's attacking you through your ability," Rick said. "Spinner and Emma have these unexplained accidents and only you - and Cole - know that they really are attempts to harm. He plans it so that you won't be able to save them."

"Why?" In a strained voice.

"I don't know that," Rick said. His revelation had left him distraught as well.

Toby looked perplexed. Kendra explained, shortly, Rick's theory.

Toby paused. Then he hesitantly said, "It does make some sense. And you do know scads more dead people than either of them."

"I don't have anyone that mad at me."

"Kendra, you have met hundreds of ghosts, most of whom are miserable and desperate. Any of them who could see you as a convenient scapegoat for their troubles," Rick said. "Can you honestly say that not one of them would blame you for their fate?"

She could not. There was a major difference, however, between lashing out in anger and sneaking attacks on her brother and classmates unseen.

"Do you record the ghosts you see?" Toby asked.

"No." Kendra remembered her journals. Sometimes she did write about them. "Not all of them."

"If we look through . . ."

"Those are private."

"Spinner's life is on the line," Toby reminded her. "And Emma's. Possibly Jay's. That's why you came to me, right?"

Now he had to act rational. When her privacy was at stake. "I'll go through them."

"It'll be faster if we split them up," Toby said. Kendra eyed him suspiciously. She was sure he derived some satisfaction in unearthing more of her secrets.

Toby's cell rang, saving Kendra from a graceless and embarrassing sputtering.

Manny called.

Emma was almost killed again.


	35. Chapter 35

In the end, Kendra lent out some of her journals, keeping the more personal journals for herself. That included her notebooks and sketchpads from the last three years, from when she first met Toby to the present.

Rick got her earliest, before her handwriting and drawing had refined to a level of realism. The dead people in her drawings were misshapen, with large heads and stick hands. Rick wondered if Kendra had taken up drawing so she could more accurately portray the people that appeared to her.

In one drawing, a woman hovered behind a large brown noose. In another, a man wore yellow bandages around most of his body. In a third, a man stood at a bed, holding a pointy needle he was about to inject into a wrinkly man lying in a hospital bed.

Kendra remained absolutely silent when pursuing her own reading. Occasionally she jotted down a name, each time without determination. Sometimes her hand lingered over, like she wanted to scratch out the name.

Spinner and Cole returned. They burst in and marched right up to the table.

"What's all this?" Spinner asked. He started to lift up the sketchbook Rick was reading, but Kendra swatted his hand away.

"I'm cleaning out some stuff from my room," Kendra said with practiced nonchalance. "How's Jay?"

"Good I guess." Cole wedged himself between Spinner and Rick.

Kendra slammed her journal shut. "How about you breathe your germ stuffed breath away from my journals?"

"Sor-ree," Spinner backed away. "Jay wasn't in the quarantine zone or anything."

"I guess we should wash our hands," Cole said more diplomatically.

"You two are getting OCD," Spinner retorted before he rushed from the room.

Cole maintained a respectful distance as he looked at Kendra's childhood sketch of three boys buried in boxes below the ground. She had crayoned a heavy brown ground that overtook most of the page. On top were three markers that resembled Popsicle sticks.

Kendra's output seemed impressive, considering that, for a seer, any expression of art became a minefield of wrong and taboo and abnormal.

"So why do you have the journals out?" Cole asked.

Distracted, Kendra stood. "He can explain it," she said, indicating Rick.

She chased after Spinner upstairs.

The computer screen blazed white for an instant until Spinner, hearing Kendra coming, tapped the close tab to his email.

Kendra knocked. "Can we talk?"

He swiveled around, annoyed at the interruption. She was tempted to take the cue and leave. She reminded herself she did not have time to delay.

So the dead guy, whoever he was, was forcing her hand. Using her sense as a vulnerable point. Well, she would call his bluff. If the dead guy insisted on dragging Spinner into it, thinking that she could not do anything about do it without giving away her secret, his tactic would not work.

Kendra perched onto the end of Cole's bed.

"Or are you busy yapping with **Walkingisanart**?"

"I knew it." Spinner punched the armrest on his chair. "I knew you've been in my email. Is that what this is about?"

Maybe his admission would ease into hers. She shrugged.

Spinner sighed. "It's Teri."

"What?"

"**Walkingisanart**."

"You mean that's Teri," Kendra exclaimed. "Teri McGreggor?"

_Rick's ex girlfriend._

"No. Teri Hatcher," Spinner replied with dripping sarcasm.

"How'd that happen?" Relief turned to mind boggling confusion.

"I emailed her. She emailed back. And so on."

"And she knows all about . . ." Kendra hesitated here, " . . . Rick?"

"That's what I emailed her about," Spinner explained measuredly. "It was in the news. The shooting. Turned out Paige had already called her about it."

"I see. Why all the secrecy?"

"No secrecy. It just wasn't your business."

"Right."

Kendra clasped her hands behind her head.

"Actually . . ."

Her mind raced to search for a proper way to explain about the dead people, before she lost his attention. Spinner fidgeted, but he waited for her to finish. He must have picked up the sensitivity of the impending subject.

"Is this about Teri?" Spinner guessed. Though he tried to keep patient, he was eager to get back to his email.

"No. It's about the attacks. Sort of."

Spinner's hands tightened over the armrests. "What attacks?" he asked, deliberately making his voice expressionless.

"The cracked car windows. And your fall down the stairs. And your near drowning. And the rat poison in the pie."

"Poison?" More doubt than fear.

"We had it tested." Aware that she was drifting away from the subject again, Kendra started over. "I see dead people."


	36. Chapter 36

There was something wrong with what she said. The rhythm, Spinner diagnosed; the rhythm was wrong. He took in the sentences and replayed them. He separated them, he elongated the pause between them, he broke them down to miniscule bits. No. It still didn't make sense.

"Wait, what?" His voice arrived at last.

Bravely, Kendra repeated, "I see dead people."

"What does that have to do with poison?" Spinner demanded. Or anything. Meaning had yet to seep in. "Dead people. What are dead people?"

"People who are dead." It was a spectacle in itself that Kendra could speak so calmly. She was handling this too smoothly. It was a joke. The realization blazed into Spinner's mind. A joke. That explained everything.

Spinner forced a knowing smile. "Ha, ha, Kendra. On a scale to ten of lameness, that has to be an eighty."

He turned back to the computer. Kendra's face flushed. She had confided her innermost secret, the secret she had prayed he never find out and he had the nerve to decide not to believe it.

She bounced up from the bed and shoved his chair back around.

"He put rat poison in that pie. If Rat Lady had not put that toy rat on top, we all would have died."

Spinner was putting effort into maintaining his disbelief, which was seconds away from dissolving.

"Who put the rat there?" Spinner latched on to the prank that had been puzzling him for days.

"I didn't get her name. She hasn't appeared since that night. She told me there was rat poison in it."

"And why would someone want to poison us?" Spinner asked, his good humor gone.

"The same reason someone would want to pull you in the lake or prop your CD case at the top of the stairs so you fell over it. The same reason someone would want to wreck your car in the exact same way both times."

He stood. "Kendra, do you know who's doing this?"

He was aware how panicked he sounded. He was panicked. Kendra confirmed that he had not been losing his mind, imagining that someone was after him. If she was right (a strain of doubt lingered), if she was right and someone was trying to kill him, he could not see that his situation was that much better.

"Not exactly," Kendra's calm slipped for an instant, but she regained it. "I know it's a dead person, but I haven't gotten any more information."

"You're saying it's a ghost!" Spinner paced, facing away from her. "I don't know what you're getting at but it's going too far."

"This isn't a joke." Kendra balled her hands into fists; her usual mantra of calm could not loosen them.

He dared glance back at her, eyebrows sloped in doubt. She withstood the doubtful look. He shook his head.

"Look, if there were ghosts going around booby-trapping stairs and poisoning pies, wouldn't we all be dead by now?"

"Well, they don't all want us dead. Just the one."

Spinner went back to pacing.

"This one is different," Kendra admitted. "He's more aware than they usually are. He knew to make sure - I didn't see him. By him, I'm generalizing, by the way. I don't know for sure that he's male."

"If - and I'm generalizing by the way - if he doesn't let you see him, how do you know he's there?" Spinner mocked her.

Hot blood surged through Kendra's veins. "The same way you know someone else is in the room when you aren't looking at them. For example, you know I'm in the room, even though you aren't looking at me right now."

Spinner turned to face her. His stare did not come easily this time; his head made a weird swivel so he would not have to meet her eyes.

Anger brimming over, Kendra burst out, "Didn't you have any clue about this? You had to know something was off about me. "

"No," Spinner sounded resigned. Withdrawn. Simmering. "No. I didn't."

"Then you never heard what would be one-sided conversations from my room? You never wondered why electronics always flick on and off by themselves? How could you not know?"

"You were working on your stories," Spinner shouted. He strode out of Cole's room and stopped by his door. "And this is just another of your convoluted stories. You always have to be the special one, don't you? The big exception. So freakin special just because you're adopted-"

"You know, forget it!" Kendra flounced after him. "I'm only trying to save your life here. There's no need to get snippy. But maybe you don't care. Not as long as Craig Manning and Jimmy Cooper are carrying a grudge."

"Too bad for you that unlike you, Craig and Jimmy have to live in reality." Spinner retorted, his face contorted in a mix of anger and grief. "And so do I."

He swept into his room and slammed the door.

For the next couple of days, Spinner did not speak to Kendra, and as a consequence, spoke little to Cole, as Cole was rarely apart from Kendra. Mentioning the argument to either of them, Cole quickly learned, was forbidden. So he let Kendra redirect his focus on Carolee, on Emma, on Rick, or on the unseen dead assailant.

Emma was absent from poetry class the next day. Mr. Simpson called in for her on the attendance hotline, claiming Emma was sick. Nonetheless, Toby invited himself over to the Simpsons' house for much of that day, and the following few days.

Meanwhile, Carolee's package was ready to send out. The plan was to mail the package from Vancouver. Kendra would rather not have it traced back to Degrassi, in case Roland Duke misinterpreted the gesture as a threat or a boast. And while they were there, they could stop in at the Bloedel Conservatory. Kendra had been neglecting her tour guide duties lately As it was, Cole had traveled three time zones and had nothing to bring from it except that he saw _Silence of the Lambs_ twenty-seven times. (Not that Cole was complaining; he was just as absorbed in the multiple dramas as she was.)

They delivered the package to the closest post office to the train station. In contrast to Carolee's weepy parting (while the slender ghost hugged them with a crushing strength and Kendra and Cole agreed that if this plan did not work, then she was welcome to come back to the Masons' house), the drop off was uneventful. The clerks directed them to the mailboxes without more than a glance at the package that would be ferrying a dead woman home.

They returned to the sidewalk. Kendra negotiated in her mind whether it was better to walk to Queen Elizabeth Park or hail a taxi. She decided on walking; they could get there with a lot less of a hassle.

Cole wrested with his disposable camera he bought at the train station. His phone could take pictures, but a disposable camera would produce better images.

They passed by an outdoor cafe, with yellow umbrellas blooming out of every other table. Cole happened to peer through some of the umbrellas, and he stopped.

"Is that Spinner?"

Kendra whirled and spotted her brother at a table at the far end of the patio. He sat across from a girl. Teri. It took a minute for Kendra to recognize her.

"Who's that with him.?" Cole questioned.

"**Walkingisanart**," Kendra explained. "I guess that explains why Spinner never had any days off." She strongly suspected this was not Spinner's first clandestine meeting with Teri, though nothing in Spinner's present behavior hinted that the meeting was a regular thing.

A familiar shape had blurred into view. Kendra ignored it at first, but it caught her attention again as she retreated her stare.

Rick stood at the curb. His eyes were fixed right on Spinner and Teri. His face, already pale, took on a transparent hue. Eventually, he noticed he was spotted.

He took off.

"Crap." Kendra shouted "Stay here," to Cole, figuring the boy was much more likely to get lost if he joined her in chasing Rick.

She ran, her feet pounding hard on the sidewalk. She had retained Rick at the edge of her sight. He could easily lose her. He could just blink out, and she could never catch him even if she ran at light speed. That he did not have to rely on his track skills must have slipped his mind.

She cut across an intersection and finally cornered Rick in a narrow alley between two apartment buildings.

Rick panted, "I didn't know he'd be there."

"Are you all right?"

Kendra stepped into the shadowed half of the alley. She panted as well; her breaths synchronized with his.

After all, she had just run six blocks.

"I . . . didn't . . ."

She touched her finger to his lips.

He edged closer to her, though she did not see him move. The shadow in the alley messed with her sight. He folded his arm around her (his warm arm) and enclosed her body into his.

He had stopped gasping.

The kiss started before Kendra was aware of it. He had stroked her hand out of the way; clasped it behind his head. Lips smoldered together.

Rick finally released her. For a long while she was speechless.

"This isn't a relationship," she blurted.

Rick smiled weakly. Somehow that showed in the dim light that filtered into the alley.

"No," he agreed. "This is just chance. Two ships passing."

Kendra could not argue with that. She rotated her body slightly, her hip pushing Rick to a more comfortable distance. That centimeter made a difference, at least to her. Short-term memory was allowed to enter.

"About Teri . . ." she began.

Rick faded slightly. "It sucks," he admitted, his voice getting a tad rough, "but I'm not going to go insane and insist they don't have a right."

"They might not be doing anything," Kendra cautioned. "They might be just friends."

"I guess so." Pessimism shaded his agreement. It was possible, but his chest seized at the thought of Teri going anywhere in Spinner's proximity. Kendra's and Cole's connections to Spinner were much easier to swallow, being merely family members. His ex girlfriend falling in love with Spinner may be more than he could bear.

"I left Cole at the cafe," Kendra reminded him. She seemed reluctant to leave. "We're going to the Conservatory."

"Oh, right."

She noticed the smallness of his voice. "Do you want to come? See the tropical birds?"

"I'd rather not." Rick thought it over. He could not drum up the enthusiasm over tropical birds. There is no reason why he should tag along and ruin everyone's fun. "I'll go back to the house."

"OK." Kendra gave him a smile she hoped was encouraging. "See you tonight."

He had already faded away by the time she emerged to the sidewalk.

"Is something wrong?" Teri asked. Teri, the one person outside of his family and Jay that would still talk to him, laid her arms on the table.

Teri had grown a few centimeters since she moved from Degrassi, after being offered a plus-size modeling contract. She had had some reservations about taking that contract, but clearly those doubts were long behind her. She was still large by media standards, but her body was toned to a more pleasing firmness. She wore a navy short-sleeved shirt with a high collar, and her long hair, pinned back into a ponytail, curled into a loose crest down her back.

She looked great. Spinner could tell, by the concerned sweep of her eyes, that she was not about to return to compliment.

"No," Spinner answered, steeped too far in denial to count that as a lie. Teri frowned and rubbed her ring finger, which a silver ring adorned. She knew he was keeping something.

_But, hey, aren't we all? _

Spinner had hidden his confidences much better in the other meetings. He had told Teri nothing about the strange accidents that seemed to trail him. He had not wanted to risk alienating her by acting like a drama queen. It was bad then, when he could still tell himself the accidents were only accidents. Too bad he did not foresee how much he would have to hide now.

_Nothing's wrong, Ter. This ghost wants to kill me. Probably because of what I did to your ex boyfriend. Hell, it probably_ is _your ex boyfriend. _

That had occurred to him that first sleepless night after Kendra dropped that huge bombshell about seeing ghosts. He could not summon up the nerve to ask her and face more accusations.

"You've been awfully quiet," Teri observed as their conversation fell flat again. She was trying not to push, but these awkward silences were getting to her.

"Um," Spinner tried to think of something to offer in explanation. He owed it to her for acting like an uncommunicative jackass this summer. "Uh. Kendra and I had a fight."

Teri's lower lip drooped sympathetically. "What happened?" she asked.

"It's hard to explain," Spinner said. "Things that have happened for a long time just blew up."

While Teri did not know about the revelation, she understood some of the long running family problems. Teri was an only child, and she always regarded her friends' sibling relationships with a mystical awe.

"Is there anything I can do?" she asked, for want of anything more useful to say.

"I don't think so," Spinner summoned a strain of optimism. "I guess it'll work itself out."

"Probably." Teri nodded again.

The tension cleared, they started on other subjects.

Later, Spinner arrived home to the dark house. Light glimmered from the Kendra's room. Either she was working on her writing or drawing or . . . never mind (though he did not hear any furtive whispers). Cole was in bed.

Spinner trudged upstairs and straight to his room. No detour to the bathroom or anything; he had no energy for it. He slammed onto his bed.

His head landed on something hard nestled within the pillow.

He swiped his arm under the pillow, but felt nothing but the sheets. Finally he lifted his head and switched on his bedlamp

A dark molten hole stained the pillow.

His hands moving under their own command, he dug into the hole and extracted a metal object.

A bullet. By its semi melted shape, it looked like it had been fired.

Kendra found the pillow propped against her door the next morning. A note lay on top of it.

_One of your people,_ the note accused.

Holding the pillow like a waitress's tray, Kendra headed to Spinner's room. She knocked but did not wait for an answer.

"Spinner?"

She opened the door.

No one was inside. Spinner had already left for the day.


	37. Chapter 37

She produced the pillow and the bullet for Cole and Rick. Cole had gotten his picture CD developed and was trying to download the pictures to an email; on the Mason's old machine, it took a while. He broke his attention away from the computer to study the bullet.

"It's the same bullet I used," Rick said. He stood a safe distance away from the evidence.

Kendra cast a doubtful look, and he repeated, shakily, "It's the exact same type of bullet that I used."

"How can you tell?" Kendra asked, baffled. She remained ignorant on the finer differences between bullets.

"I know what type I loaded into my gun."

"Bullets look different after they've been fired," Cole reminded him, without straying his gaze from the residue on the pillow.

Rick did not answer.

His hand traveled to his midsection, where his gunshot wound was located. Kendra had forgotten it was there, obscured as it was by his black T-shirt. He poked his hand into the wound and reached in. He yanked out the bullet with an anguished twist, then dropped it onto the floor.

He stood frozen as Kendra scrambled to pick up the bullet. Conscious that what she was touching ended up in Rick's liver, she quickly flung it over next to the other bullet.

Cole shifted over to the desktop. Blindering himself to Rick's stunned expression, he focused on comparing the bullets. Kendra looked over his shoulder, though she kept throwing cautious glances at Rick, who remained a firm distance from the desk. From what they could see, except for a slight difference in bend, the bullets appeared identical.

"It's the same type," Rick said in his monotone. "Isn't it?"

"We don't know for sure," Cole finally replied, choosing scientific accuracy as the best stance.

Kendra parted her scrutiny from the bullets and stepped over to Rick, her hand forward in a offer of comfort.

"You'd better stay away, Kendra," Rick warned.

She stopped. "Rick, what the hell?" she said, not the least intimidated by his warning.

"I could be doing this. All of it."

"All of it? Do you know how many attacks this guy has perpetrated?" Kendra argued. "You couldn't have done all of that without becoming aware."

"Isn't the whole reason I'm still here because I don't know what I'm aware of?" Rick said. "That's what dead people do. They stumble around unaware of what they're doing."

He looked to Cole for confirmation. Cole fiddled with the corner of the pillow, seeking a way out of this intensely private conversation.

"You're aware. You know you're dead. You know why . . . what killed you."

"I was with you when that ghost threw the horseshoe at Kendra," Cole remembered. "You didn't do that."

"That might not have anything to do with the other attacks," Rick said, his jaw clenched. "You said so yourself."

"Rick." Kendra dropped the whole pretense right then and there. "There's someone else in the house. Someone who is being careful not to let Cole or me see him. I know he's there. I can feel him watching me when I'm alone. It's not you."

Cole regarded his cousin with a grim stare. Kendra had never mentioned that she had felt a dead person spying on her. She had not mentioned it to Rick, judging from his similar grim stance.

"Where is he?" Rick asked, ire shooting through his voice. "Is he here now?"

"No." Kendra, contrarily, reverted back to calmness. "He's only around when I'm alone."

"Alone alone?" Cole spoke suddenly. "I mean, no Rick or Carolee or FaceEater or anyone dead are around either?"

"No," Kendra's answer trailed thoughtfully. As Cole's idea slammed into her, she opened her mouth - needing to explain, to clarify - but no sound emerged. Fortunately, the idea was well understood by everyone in the room.

"You mean he can see them?" Rick said. "Can they do that?"

"I suppose a few of them can." Kendra strode over to Cole's bed, on which lay a pile of her old journals. She gathered them up. "No one in these can see dead people."

"Want me to come?" Rick asked.

"I'm going to hide them," Kendra said crossly.

"Better I see them than him, though. Right?"

She relented, suppressing a shudder of the thought of her invisible stalker paging through her private thoughts. "I guess."

He followed her to her room, where she stashed the sketchbooks, one at a time, under a blanket in the closet. When she emerged from her crouch, he stepped over to her.

"Thank you," he murmured.

She was about to protest she did nothing special, but was silenced when they enjoined in a hot kiss.

Toby showed up late in the evening. Cole answered the door.

"Is Kendra here?" Toby asked.

"Yeah." Cole was unimpressed with the deja vu from Craig's visit from a couple of weeks ago. He realized that Angie had not come by since then, even though she vowed she would return every day for the rest of his visit. He hoped that did not mean the dead person from the prop room came after her again.

Kendra descended the stairs. "Shut the door," she ordered. "You're letting the cold air out."

Toby took that as an invitation and crossed the threshold, stepping away quickly so Cole could wedge the door shut.

"Hi," he greeted, then was unable to find any other conversation.

"Hi," Kendra returned. Because she was more at ease, she led him to the kitchen. "How's Emma?"

Toby looked doubtfully at Cole. "OK. A little jumpy."

"He knows," Kendra informed him, referring to Cole.

"I can see them too," Cole said.

Toby paused. Eventually he realized that Cole's sight was not as monumental a revelation.

He stumbled on, "Um, is Rick here?"

"Yeah," Rick said appearing at the same proper distance as when Kendra first broke the news of his existence.

"Yes," Kendra and Cole both echoed for him.

Toby's head rotated around the room. To be helpful, Cole pointed out the general direction where Rick was standing.

"Hi, Rick." Somehow, increasing his audience to two (three) had added a note of awkwardness. Rick returned the greeting, which Kendra dutifully informed Toby.

"So about Emma," Kendra prompted, as Toby had put that as the reason for his dashing over here.

"Manny's at Emma's now," Toby finally said.

Watching over Emma had been an exhausting vigil. Toby studied every object in Emma's room, tracking whether each had been moved when no one was there. The job proved to be nearly impossible. Was it the invisible dead that nudged the door slightly or ruffled through her papers, or left the dresser drawer open? Was it the dead that caused the light bulb in the lamp to flicker? Had that knife range always been located in the top drawer or did the ghost somehow move it for easier access?

Toby had bombarded Emma with questions about locations and movements until he realized he was only making her more nervous.

"Manny's there?" Kendra echoed.

"They don't know about the ghosts, obviously," Toby quickly reassured her. "But Manny connected the van and the backpack fire - and Jay's getting run over. She's got this idea that some serial hit-and-runner is preying on Degrassi students."

"Well, she's not entirely wrong," Kendra said. "Drink?"

Toby shook his head.

"What about the phone call?"

"Emma says she's still convinced it's Spinner. But that's mostly denial. She knows it wasn't Spinner driving that van."

"Did she see the driver?" Cole asked.

"She said someone in a black hood."

Rick wore a black hood over his T-shirt. Kendra inadvertantly glanced at Rick, who self consciously crossed his arms across his ribcage as if trying to cover his outfit. But Kendra was not suspicious. Didn't that confirm the theory that the phantom was trying to imitate Rick? That he could see Rick?

"Could it have been a ghost?" Toby pressed. Without a visual comparison of Rick's clothes, he missed the implication that the phantom was framing Rick for his crimes. "If Emma could see him?"

"I guess so. If she could only see the hood. It happens to non-seers all the time," Kendra rushed to explain. "If they're near death, or on drugs, or, like Emma, really frightened, they might see something out of their realm. Times when they're least credible."

"Really," Toby said.

"Well not all the time." Kendra thought to clarify. "And not in as much detail as we see them. Sometimes it really is just their mind playing tricks. It's hard for those people to differentiate between real encounters and hallucinations."

"Sometimes when they're sleeping," Cole added. "If a dead person talks to them when they're sleeping, it filters into their dreams."

Intrigued, and thankfully no longer frightened, Toby asked, "But to you they look like ordinary living people. How do you differentiate? Are they see through or something?"

Kendra paused. Cole answered.

"The difference isn't that obvious," he stammered. "They just look off. Like they can't fit in. There's not really a good way to describe it. The weird thing is that they can pick us out just as well. They see us and just know that we can see them when no one else can."

He glanced at Kendra as if to confirm that she had had the same experience. She had more familiarity with the fundamentals of the dead people's existence. Kendra twitched a nod, then returned "So in Emma's case, it is possible for her to see a brief and indistinct dead person. Like I told you, this guy is different. As for the van, it could have been anybody's. Dead people don't worry about locked doors or alarms."

"Wait, you keep saying this guy is different," Toby said. "What do you mean by that?"

Kendra tried to reiterate the dead person's unusual level of self awareness and manipulation. "It's not just that he keeps out of my sight or Cole's, but when he's playing his little pranks, he makes sure no one is around to witness, except what he wants them to see. That includes dead people. He can see them."

"You mean he can see dead people." Toby swallowed. He was beginning to wonder if he was the only person on the planet who could not see them. Kendra, Kendra's kid cousin, Emma, the ghost who was trying to kill them . . . "Is that possible?"

"Possible but rare," Kendra summarized. "This guy, he's familiar with all the subtler tricks. He may have been able to see them when he was alive."

Toby sat back against the kitchen chair, stunned. His capability for being stunned had not worn off, after all.

They covered as much as they could for Emma safety. "What about Spinner?" he asked.

Kendra slumped into her seat. "He knows. All of it."

"Oh." The awkwardness returned. That news could not have gone well.

"The pillow," Cole murmured. He appeared just as uneasy.

"Right," Kendra remembered. "I'll show you."

She rose from her chair and beckoned for him to follow upstairs. They trooped up to Cole's room.

The pillow had been left on the desk. The two bullets resided by it.

"Wow." Toby sighed cautiously. "What happened?

"He discovered it like that," Kendra shortened her explanation.

She aimed her stare away from him. The fight with Spinner bothered her. Toby gently laid his hand on her shoulder.

"At least he knows," he offered. "About the . . ."

She nodded, as if she had occupied herself with that consolation several times since then.

"Believe me," Toby added, thinking of all the challenges in surveying at Emma's house. "It makes a huge difference. Spinner will figure that out eventually."

Kendra nodded, the corners of her mouth lifting up slightly.

Rick stopped at the door. Kendra, seeing him, pulled away from Toby. Toby looked towards the door. Though Kendra did not announce Rick's presence, he guessed what happened. He may have guessed some of why she reacted as well. His face had not sparked in firm realization, but he became uneasy when Kendra tensed from Rick's presense.

Rick soundlessly retreated from the doorway. The brunt of the situation that missed Toby hit him with its full impact.

Kendra could be in a real relationship now, but all her romantic impulses were reserved for him. Despite her initial protests, she was falling for him. It was not right. Nor did Rick want to get involved in an unrequited triangle with her and his best friend.

She warned him this would happen, but he went ahead and selfishly claimed her for himself. He had thought only about his own wants.

He never thought about what this would do to her.


	38. Chapter 38

A couple of days passed, and there had been no hint of the unseen dead person. The best anyone could estimate was that he learned that they knew about his motive, so he was lying low and reformulating his plan.

Before long came the day the Landons promised to take Cole sailing. Cole got up at five, rushed through his breakfast and then waited on the steps. Kendra waited with him, dragging out her backpack. She had to go to class, but she was not leaving until the Landons arrived.

"Do you have money for lunch?" she asked.

"Yes." Cole had a bottle of juice and a snack packed into an older backpack Kendra lent to him. He had added another disposable camera and a book of trivia quizzes in case he and Atlas Boy got bored on the boat.

"Don't forget to wear your life vest." As soon as the words flew out of her mouth, Kendra wanted to sink through the ground. Talk about imitating her mother. Cole knew to wear his life vest. He was not some imbecile who thought death only happened on _Law and Order_ reruns.

"I won't forget," Cole repeated good-naturedly.

A stately station wagon pulled into the driveway. Atlas Boy burst out of the backseat, stomping sulkily up the steps.

"I didn't know she'd be coming," Atlas Boy muttered, tossing his head back to the car. Mr Landon and Gillian stepped out and strolled across the front lawn.

"Too bad," Cole murmured in sympathy, though he did not see Gillian's presence as much of a tragedy.

Because Atlas Boy refused to speak, Cole briefly introduced Kendra to Mr. Landon and Gillian.

"It's nice to meet you," Gillian said. "Cole told us so much about you."

Atlas Boy snorted.

"Please excuse my son's rudeness," Mr. Landon sighed. "Are your parents at home?"

Kendra tried hard to overlook the man's slight. "They're at work. I have their numbers if you want to contact them."

Cole had already told them he had his relatives' permission - and his mother's. He had grown so used to the Masons' lax parenting, he forgot that other parents might ask for more than his word that it was okay.

"Just one number is fine," Mr. Landon said as he pulled out his phone number and positioned his thumb to dial.

Kendra gave him her father's number. Atlas Boy squirmed in humiliation. So did Kendra, though she did a good job of disguising her discomfort. She prayed her father did not leap to the conclusion that one of them was in trouble or ramble on about his "towel boy" son.

"So you are taking classes this summer?" Gillian chatted.

"Just one," Kendra answered. "Poetry."

"Writing poetry?" Kendra nodded. "That is a tricky subject. I took a couple of poetry writing classes in college. They were very interesting."

Atlas Boy groaned.

"Do you do any writing now?" Kendra asked, though Atlas Boy motioned frantically to stop encouraging her to talk. Cole finally distracted him by taking out the trivia book.

"Sometimes. Just for fun."

Mr. Landon closed his phone. "Your uncle gave the go ahead," he said to Cole. He sought Kendra's eye apologetically. "Sorry to do that, but you know how things are these days."

Taking Kendra's wary silence as acceptance, he announced, "Well, we'd better get on the road."

"Finally," Atlas Boy jumped up, still clutching to the trivia book.

Kendra felt a twinge. Great, she was going to end up as one of those bubble wrap parents, seeing danger in every damn activity.

She was about to spew some more of that "Be careful," crap to Cole, when he turned it back on her and said, "Don't forget to go to class."

"Funny," she retorted. "Go. Have fun."

She watched as he crawled into the back of the station wagon.

The twinge did not go away.

"If your mother ever marries," Atlas Boy reminded Cole, "you'll get to experience the same torture."

They basked at the back of the boat. Mr. Landon and Gillian were loosening the sail, propelling them across English Bay. Mr. Landon's arms circled around Gillian's waist as she tentatively learned to steer.

Cole never took exaggerations of words like "torture" lightly; he had seen too many effects from actual torture. All he said, however, was, "I guess it depends on who she marries."

"What about that cop your mom's friends with?" Atlas Boy brought up. "Suppose she falls in love with him and marries him. Would you want him for a stepfather?"

Cole shifted on the damp floor. Logically the idea of his mother remarrying should not pose a problem; he had accepted that his father was not coming back. His father had already married again. Cole did not expect his mom to remain alone forever. The way that Atlas Boy presented the scenario, though, made it seem much more immediate. Like the wedding was only a couple of weeks away. Such a rapid approach did not sit well with him.

He started wondering if, at home, his mom was going out on dates, now that she did not have to worry about getting home in time or finding a baby sitter. She had not mentioned any dates during phone calls, and she had no reason to withhold that type of information from him. But then, his father never had any reason to fall in love with a different woman and leave the family he already had. Cole backtracked, rather than let his thoughts drift in that direction.

"Maybe we should keep an eye out for whales," Cole suggested, desperate to change the subject.

Atlas Boy heaved a sigh. "I told you. We're too close to the land and it's not the right time of the year. The only whales we'd be likely to see are orcas and they're nothing like real whales."

A strong wind ripped across the boat, blowing Mr. Landon and Gillian's laughter back to them. Atlas Boy breathed another disgusted sigh and clambered up to a stand.

"Maybe there's an interesting bird around or something."

Cole stood as well. He scanned the shoreline, shielding his eyes from the uninhibited sunlight. The city buildings took on a metallic shimmer. Behind them rose mountains, capped by clouds. Cole had snapped several pictures of this view. It was the type of picture the adults would like. He would like to drum up something more interesting than shimmery beauty, though.

Gillian parted from Mr. Landon's embrace and ambled over to them.

"You're not bored, are you?" she asked congenially.

"We know you aren't," said Atlas Boy.

Ignoring his snide remark as usual, Gillian gabbed on, "So you're interested in whale watching?"

Atlas Boy did not answer, determined to shut Gillian out as much as possible. Cole, out of pity, replied, "I guess so." For Atlas Boy's sake, he kept his answer vague and brief.

"You know," Gillian offered, "there's this really good movie about a killer whale-"

Atlas Boy interrupted, "That movie sucks. And killer whales aren't real whales. Everyone knows that."

Cole tried a friendly smile, without spurring her on too much. Gillian was trying too hard.

He heard a knock at the bottom of the boat. That was the only warning. Before anyone could react, the boat flipped over, spilling the occupants into the bay.

The ocean churned as it swallowed them. Cole bobbed under the surface briefly, but the life vest counteracted and brought him up. The boat's mangled sail took up his immediate view. Orange vests showed up at the corner of his eye; the others were not far off. He started to call to them.

A hand latched onto Cole's vest and yanked him under the water.


	39. Chapter 39

Kendra's phone bleeped.

Mrs. Rafferty's condemning scowl snapped in her direction. Kendra closed her textbook around her half-finished homework. She grabbed her phone and trotted out of the library.

Once in the hallway, she lifted the phone to her ear.

"This is Mr. Landon." The voice sounded vastly different from the confident, indifferent tone he used that morning. "I already left messages on your father's mail and your home phone. There was an accident."

The boat had hit an errant swell in the water and it capsized. Cole must have gotten caught by part of the boat; he was pulled under the water and nearly drowned. They were rescued and taken to the hospital.

Mr. Landon avoided mention of Cole's condition. Possibly he believed he was doing her a favor by not priming her imagination. It had not worked. No matter, Kendra would find out everything soon enough.

She scooped up her belongings and raced out of the school.

She called Spinner's number on the way. When his voicemail picked up, she poured out a long, borderline-abusive tirade before she remembered that Spinner no longer had that phone; it was lying in her desk drawer along with the other evidence. She dialed home. Mr. Landon said he already called, but it would not hurt to try again. She reiterated the emergency and hung up.

It took her longer than she expected to find the hospital, in downtown Vancouver where it blended in with the rest of the city. She switched cabs a couple of times, depleting her funds on her emergency credit card. She could only hope she had enough to get back home. Then she felt ashamed that she fixated on money at a time like this, then uncomfortable that she was channeling her mother. Why couldn't she think properly?

Every hospital had its population of dead people. Ghosts who were not sure they were dead and did not want to travel far from their bodies, as if they could revive themselves just by slipping ghostily back into their empty corpses and presto: instant cure for death. She eyed a few of them: most of them ER cases with massive wounds.

The last taxi skidded off. Kendra stepped across the sidewalk and collided into Rick.

"What happened?" he asked gently.

She did not answer yet; she had to catch her breath. She struggled to but could not voice what Mr. Landon had informed her.

Rick made it easier. "I heard the messages from Mr. Landon on the machine." Still no answer. "Is Cole okay?"

"I don't know." Anger flared anew at Mr. Landon. Couldn't he have told her at least that much? Cole was probably fine - a minor injury at most - and Mr. Landon would not say so because he felt he should leave that news with the grown ups.

More calmly, she repeated, "I don't know any more than you do."

Rick touched her chin. He would have liked to say something, but there was nothing that could help. There was nothing he could do to fix this for her.

Kendra tore away. "I have to go in there and talk to the Landons," she explained.

As impatient as she was, she dreaded what they might have to tell her. She did not - could not - really believe that Cole was fine. If he was, not even Mr. Landon would have neglected to tell her. If that were the case, the phrase "he's fine" would have come out automatically, whether one planned it or not.

"Do you want me to come with?" Rick asked.

"Sure. Okay," she stuttered.

Her legs became heavy as she trudged through the hospital doors. Rick kept apace with her as she navigated her way to the ER.

"I told you," Atlas Boy insisted. "It wasn't the boat. A guy in a black hood was under the boat and he pulled Cole under the water."

Atlas Boy and Mr. Landon were in the waiting room. The argument instantly muted when they saw Kendra approach. Mr. Landon, of course, inquired when her father or mother would arrive. "They're on their way," she mumbled. She was full of questions. "What happened to Cole? Is he OK? Where's Gillian?"

Tense lines etched into Mr. Landon's face. "Gillian was also injured. She hit her head on the side of the boat when it tipped over. She's getting a CAT scan now. As for Cole . . . the rescue team was quick but he drifted away from the boat."

"He may have been underwater ten, maybe fifteen minutes. We put him on a ventilator and his pulse is weak," the head doctor echoed nearly an hour later. "His situation is still precarious. We've run X-rays and MRI and there are no apparent injuries, but there is a chance that his condition could decline."

Through the doctor's gentle assessment, Kendra fumbled with her phone. Echoes of long term repercussions of being cut off from oxygen, of which Kendra was well familiar with, cycled through her mind, playing out essentially every negative scenario. She tried to drum up the nerve to call her parents. And Cole's mother. She had to call Mrs. Sear.

They did not speak for a long time. Mr. Landon and Atlas Boy sat side by side: Mr. Landon anxious and Atlas Boy stewing. Rick sat by Kendra. He dared not touch her or distract her. Kendra toyed with her phone, forestalling the inevitable call to Philadelphia until she saw Cole.

The doctor finally allowed her in the ICU. She went in alone; Rick sensed his following her in would not be appropriate. She numbly observed her cousin, with the tubes inserted rudely in his arms and the oxygen mask over his face.

In movies, characters always talked to their unconscious friends. Kendra did not say a word: although she had plenty of things to say, for particular reasons, the idea of carrying on a one-sided conversation seemed rather morbid. She stood, barely moving, and waited out the allotted five minutes.

"I'd better call his mother," Kendra announced when she returned to the waiting room, her voice booming over the imposing silence. She was speaking to Rick; let the eavesdropping Landons assume whatever.

"How is he?" Mr. Landon asked, with automatic courtesy.

"About the same."

She wandered down the corridor, stepping out of the main traffic until she reached the freight elevator. An overhead fluorescent strip brought a dim but steady light to this corner. Huddling against the wall, she opened her phone and selected Mrs. Sear's number from the bottom of her list of contacts.

She tuned out all the clangs and squeaks emitting from all directions of the hospital, pressing her free hand over her ear so she could hear nothing but the agonizing repetitive tone of the call connecting to Philadelphia.

"Hello?"

The unfamiliar voice startled her. Kendra almost replied, _Wrong number_, because of course Mrs. Sear's voice was unfamiliar; this was the first time she had ever spoken to her aunt.

She steeled herself to remember why she called. "Um, hi, this is Kendra."

"Oh, yes. Cole's told me about you."

Mrs. Sear sounded like the type to carry on with pleasantries, but otherwise a nice person to get along with. Too bad she did not have time to build a proper rapport.

"Cole's in the hospital," she said. "He was invited to go sailing with a friend and his parents and the boat tipped over."

"An accident?" Mrs. Sear was speaking as if all the air had left her lungs.

"I don't know." Kendra had not planned to say this. She had prepared to lie.

"Was it . . ." Kendra had already guessed that Cole confided to his mother about her ability. She had planned on - not lying, but avoiding that aspect. At least on the phone.

" . . . the one who was following Cole?"

The question had not been that predictable after all. "Beg pardon?" Kendra asked.

"Cole didn't tell me much about him. But I saw some of the signs."

"Signs?"

"Some things around the house were damaged. Bullet holes. In windows. In tablecloths and curtains. Mainly in his bedroom. I was worried about what this person might do. But we didn't know how to stop him."

Kendra had wondered about this visit when her parents first announced they were taking Cole in for the summer. The impetus for the visit had not made sense, but once the trouble started, Kendra promptly forgot about why he was there. Toby was right; the trouble had started just after Cole arrived, but she never really noticed. The dead guy's attentions seemed centered around Spinner and Rick and the school shooting, then around her. Up until today, none of the vicious pranks had been directed specifically at Cole.

"I see," Kendra worked to keep her voice neutral, not wanting to broadcast her negligence. Mrs. Sear had sent him here to keep him safe. Boy, did she botch it.

"Did you see him?" Mrs. Sear lacked eagerness in her question. She was struggling to understand just what happened in Degrassi.

"Yes." Kendra pinched the bridge of her nose. "It might take a little time to explain this guy."

Mrs. Sear, realizing nothing would get accomplished over the phone, proposed, "All right. What hospital are you at?"

Kendra recited the name and general address. "He's doing okay for now," she felt compelled to add, using a grossly loose definition of okay. She refused to think of it as a lie.

"I'll be over as soon as I can."

Emma received Toby's urgent message. He had been hacking and he found some info about the guy who almost ran her over.

Thankfully, Toby proposed meeting at the school entrance opposite the parking lot. Still Emma had to pause to calm her spastic nerves. She had not had this reaction when she returned to class that morning, but now in the late afternoon, the school grounds had emptied of dawdlers. Even while the sun rode high above, the empty campus provoked an ominous chill.

Her watch ticked past four o'clock and Toby had not shown. The chill ratcheted up. Toby was never late. If he had said four, he would be here at four, or he would call and explain his delay.

She should leave. She did not feel like doing the sane thing: giving Toby the benefit of doubt and waiting a few more minutes. She wanted to run and put as much distance between her and the school as possible.

As she stood up, she saw the van.

It was not the same white van. This one was dark blue and it did not have a side door like she thought she saw on the other van. This one looked more like a commercial van, but if it had a side logo, it was painted over. Emma's eyes darted to the license plate only to discover it was smeared with mud.

A mere meter away was the hooded man. He stepped down from the driver's seat and was advancing at her with an unmistakable deliberateness.

Emma bolted.

She vaulted over the side of the steps and tore across the lawn towards the residential blocks that surrounded the school. Her mouth wrenched open: she prepared to scream - as soon as she cleared the street, as soon as she came near enough for someone to hear her, as soon as she gained enough distance from her pursuer.

He came upon her with a shocking swiftness, his strong arms pounding into her. He scooped her up and she careened forward, falling headfirst like as seesaw.

She suspended for a long moment, her captor pinning her so his arm rammed against her diaphragm. Unable to scream, she eked a few grunts that would not carry past the sidewalk. She kicked, but at her angle they were rendered ineffectual.

He turned her over so she faced him. The blood that had rushed to her head shifted like sludge. The hood folded over his face; she glimpsed nothing but an unshaven chin.

He clapped a large hand over her face, pinching her nose and mouth shut.

Her consciousness - or what was left of it - ebbed away.

Spinner was driving by when he spotted the van.

A hooded man stood by the back, hunched over as he loaded his burden inside. Spinner stopped the car and stared, forgetting that Manny had called requesting to meet him - it was urgent - and he was already late.

Something about that man struck him with startling familiarity. The black hood. Where had he seen a black hood like that?

He could imagine Manny on the steps, tapping impatiently and questioning to herself how she could have ever been attracted to him. Too bad for her that his shift ended at four, no earlier; she should have thought of that. The clandestine nature of the "urgent" meeting must have made her scheduling difficult. Manny had stressed that she did not want Craig to know.

If she was hoping for a hook up, she was out of luck. Spinner had too many complications to add a forbidden romance. But on the greater likelihood that Manny and her team of friends discovered something - like who was pulling all those vicious pranks - he wanted to hear it.

_See, Kendra? Team Emma had solved the whole mystery. Turns out it was a real person, not your ghosts._

No mystery except why the black hood was so important.

The hunched man backed away and Spinner caught sight of the luggage inside. A pale body in a light blue cloth. The body had blonde hair. Spinner strained for a closer look, letting his car creep forward a few centimeters.

It was definitely human.

It was Emma.

"Hey!" he shouted. He shoved the car in park and scrambled out. "Hey you."

The man's hooded head rose. Part of the face lit into sight, but not enough to expose any identity.

"Yeah, you!" The man's surprise incensed Spinner further, like he had any right to be surprised he was caught kidnapping a girl. "You, step away from the van."

The man did not move. Neither did Emma. A new realization crawled into the base of his brain. He loomed closer to the captor. That he was slightly taller than this slime satisfied him a little. He bolstered up his shoulders to keep this advantage.

"I said-"

The blow came from behind Spinner crashed onto the concrete. Wriggling onto his side, he saw another hooded figure - an accomplice - staring down at him.

The hooded figure brought down his weapon again.


	40. Chapter 40

"I've been thinking about Kendra a lot," Rick confessed. He looked over at Cole, who was still unconscious, as if expecting an answer. He should be listening. He should be able to listen, though there might be a distinction between sleeping and descending into a coma.

"Not that it's any surprise to you."

Rick ignored the weird effect of this whole scene. The dimmed lights. The nurses trooping in and out, unaware that he was in the room. The muted bleeps of the monitor measuring Cole's brain activity (which sounded more vigorously in the past hour, Rick was pleased to note.)

"I have to - I can't stay here. Here in the afterlife. I know, not great timing to for springing this news. But if I stay, I'll end up making a huge mistake. One that will ruin her life.

"It's not like I'm abandoning her. She knows I'll have to leave sometime. She would expect it, if she was, um, less distracted with everything.

"I wouldn't be good for her anyway. I'm bad at relationships. Toxic - that's the word those self-help books use. I'm toxic. You know why Teri broke up with me? Because I hit her. I was sorry, of course, but being sorry didn't stop me from doing it again. When she was kind enough to give me another chance, we went hiking and I got mad at her and I pushed her onto some rocks. She was in a coma for days."

Rick paused, wondering at the appropriateness of the subject when Cole was in this state. It did not seem to have any ill effect. So he went on. He needed to finish the story now that he started it.

"She's okay now. You saw for yourself at that cafe with that prick Spinner - okay, yeah, that's unfair. Spinner's a wiseass, but at least he won't mistreat her like I did.

"The first time I met Kendra, the first time she actually talked to me, it was about Teri. I did my time in juvenile hall and reenrolled in Degrassi. I was all stupid and optimistic that I had a new start to my life. Teri and her father moved away from Degrassi and I had all that court appointed counseling and rehab, so I thought all the violent episodes were behind me. But the other students weren't as ready to forgive.

"Toby was my only friend at the time. I knew Kendra by sight but she mostly avoided me like most of the others. One time I was in the computer lab during my free period, I muttered something like "what does it take to get their approval?" I mean, I was sorry for what I did to Teri, but it seemed like there wasn't anything I could do to fix it.

"She overheard me and immediately answered 'You could start by not acting like a misunderstood victim.'

"I was speechless, mostly I couldn't figure out why she was so riled up. She added on, "'They're not ganging up on you for some contrived fashion offense. You did something despicable. You beat up Teri. She almost died because of you.'"

"It was the first time anyone actually said that. That she could have died. I knew as well as anyone else how close it had been, but no one except the police and lawyers said it outright. I think Teri's friends were afraid to say out loud that it was a possibility.

"For some reason I answered, 'What am I supposed to do about it?' I sounded defensive. I think I figured that if anyone would give me a straight answer, she would. She just did this annoyed blink like I wasn't worth the effort and stalked back to her terminal."

Rick settled back down in the chair by the bed. "I guess my point is I'm not good with girls, and I don't mean that in some modest goofy way. Emma was another case in point. That was entirely one sided and you know how that ended.

"I think I was attracted to Emma because she was the opposite of Teri. Teri was way too nice - which was my failing, not hers. Emma's nice too, but she doesn't let people bully her or go against her principles. I thought a relationship would be safe, because no way would she let me smack her like Teri did.

"Kendra is a lot like Emma. That same core strength. Maybe my attraction to her is an illusion like it was for Emma. Which is one reason I have to leave. An important reason. I don't want Kendra to lose that. My appearance is changing her. She's becoming too dependent, too withdrawn from others. I can't allow that to happen. I won't let her lose her chance at a normal life because of me."


	41. Chapter 41

It felt like Kendra had been in this hospital for years.

When she returned to the waiting area, a woman had joined the Landons. She sat beside them in the trio of chairs across from the seats she and Rick had staked out. Like father and son, the woman stared solemnly ahead.

Atlas Boy slumped in his seat; he had been in that seat since early afternoon. Now the hour passed dinnertime and Mr. Landon made no sign of letting up his vigil.

"Mr. Landon," she asked. "Is it okay if Rees and I go get some dinner?"

Mr. Landon started, then said, "Oh, sure," as if dinner had completely passed his mind.

Atlas Boy slithered out of the chair and followed Kendra. They descended two floors to the cafeteria. Atlas Boy loaded his tray with desserts, looking suspiciously at Kendra like she would reprimand him. Kendra's own tray bore several snacks. She paid for both of them without comments.

"Who was the woman with you and your dad?" she asked as she steered them to a table by the door.

"Woman? What woman?" Atlas Boy snapped.

Kendra recognized her mistake, but she decided not to press him with an explanation. Neither of them had the energy for lies.

"So is Cole's mom coming?" Atlas Boy asked, his mouth full of chocolate cream.

"Yep."

"What did you tell her about him?"

"I said he's okay, mostly. He's not injured. There's no real reason why he shouldn't wake up soon." Just saying that charged Kendra with a more positive attitude. Cole had better be fine. For one thing, he has a lot of explaining to do.

She was glad she called Mrs. Sear, because it helped immensely. Telling an actual adult the gist of the problem had lifted a huge burden off her shoulders. This burden she had been carrying all year had begun with the shooting and had been made heavier with the recent attacks. Things had gotten out of control and she had been scrambling to keep both her living and dead worlds from falling apart.

Which was not to say that her troubles were over. Too many unresolved situations hung over her, and Mrs. Sear would not be able to fix all of them. First and foremost, Kendra had to identify the dead person, the phantom disguising himself in a black hood . . .

"Didn't you say something about seeing a man in a black hood?" Kendra recalled.

Atlas Boy squashed the remainder of his pastry.

"Dad didn't believe me," he said finally. "He's too occupied because stupid Gillian hit her head."

"It might be important," Kendra encouraged. "If someone was in the water."

"I didn't see much," Atlas Boy mumbled. "Just the black hood."

"You mean like a diver's suit?" Kendra prodded.

"No. It was thick and bulky. But why would anybody be swimming in a thick and bulky sweatshirt?" Atlas Boy argued to himself. "It would get heavy from all the water it absorbed and exhaust him unnecessarily. Even if he was an idiot to try, he would never make it that far from shore."

He rammed his fist into an uneaten donut.

"I bet it was a killer whale," he decided. "One of those stupid orcas that aren't even whales. He saw something on Cole that looked like food and tried to pull him under."

Kendra and Atlas Boy returned to the hallway, just in time to see Mr. Landon stirred into action. A nurse spoke to him and he rushed into Gillian's room, escorted by the nurse and a doctor. The woman remained where she was.

"Go ahead in," she said placidly to Kendra.

Kendra soundlessly led Atlas Boy after Mr. Landon. Peering between Mr. Landon and the nurse checking the patient's vitals, she saw that Gillian was awake and wide-eyed with confusion.

"Gillian, baby," Mr. Landon said tenderly.

"Wha-" Gillian moaned. She tested the motion of her jaw. Unlike Cole, she had no breathing tube, so she could talk freely, once the disorientation wore off.

"You were in an accident," the doctor (the same doctor who spoke of Cole's prognosis) explained. "Your boat upended and you struck your head when you were tossed out."

Gillian seemed to take a long time to process that. Mr. Landon gripped her hand and she gripped it back. Her eyes began to clear.

She blurted out, "I remember. There was somebody in the water. A swimmer in the black hood. Oh God, did we hit him?"

Atlas Boy left the room and Kendra was the only one to notice. To be fair, she decided to wait a few more minutes to call that to Mr. Landon. On leaving, she heard Gillian ask "Are Rees and his friend okay? "

Atlas Boy slumped in his chair. The dead woman beside him rubbed his shoulders,which seemed to relax him a little.

"I don't know why he was so upset," Rees mumbled. "He would just replace her in two years, like he did with Mom."

Kendra took her place across from him, not wanting to crowd him and who she guessed was his mother.

"You don't think he misses her?" she asked, without the slightest inflection.

Atlas Boy shrugged. "He does."

"How did your mom die?"

"Car crash."

"I'm sorry."

Atlas Boy said nothing, instead thought over his father's behavior.

"Your mom," Kendra said. "If she were here, do you think she would be mad that your dad remarried?"

"No." He did not even hesitate.

The woman smiled.

"I still don't like her," Atlas Boy professed, referring to Gillian. His statement carried less vehemence than it had before.

A bluish light cast down on Spinner as he roused. He shifted, only to find himself unable to spread his arms.

He was sitting up on the cement floor. His head throbbed. His neck muscles were stiff. His arms were cranked back. Ropes chafed into his arms and chest, and his legs, numb from lack of movement, were also tied. The pressure of someone on his back - Emma, he guessed - further weighed him down. He tried to shake them apart, maybe that would loosen the ropes, then stopped because all he was accomplishing was jostling Emma back and forth.

He surveyed the room - what little he could see with dim light that seeped in. A square room only a few meters wide, with a dank closet-sized bathroom. The only furniture, besides the plumbing fixtures, was a rusted bedframe. The walls were bare. A tiny slit of a window peered down at him; he could see that it had gotten dark.

Emma's shoulder blade jabbed in his back. She grunted awake.

"Emma?" Spinner called.

"Hhhu," Emma said drowsily.

"Are you okay?" A stupid question. But he had no idea how the van guy managed to nab her or what he did to subdue her.

She jerked back, ramming against him. "What did you do?" she shrieked, her vocal chords sounding rusty.

"Right." Spinner rolled his eyes, not that Emma would see it. Laying heavily on sarcasm, he recapped. "I hired some guy to drive a van to Degrassi and knock you out, and then I tied you up against me. Just for kicks."

Some memory was returning to her. The man who grabbed her on the school steps. The threats and accidents and near misses. "Oh god," Emma said. "Oh god oh god oh god oh god -"

She wiggled, as if trying to undo the ropes, though she could do nothing more than shiver her upper body.

"I tried that."

Emma stopped, shoulders raised in indignation.

"Where are we?" she finally asked.

The air vent clanked above them. The noise fired off an even more disturbing thought. Suppose he and Emma were not alone in the room. Then he dismissed the idea. They weren't abducted by a ghost.

Another pause. Emma used it to observe her side of the room. All she could see was a dark stain against the wall and a window identical to the one on Spinner's side. The window was far too small to fit through, even if they could get loose. Emma watched for foot traffic, but the outside view was too dark even to spot movement. It may have been painted over. If she peered out of the corner of her eye, she could see a door, with shadowy spaces marking where the double bolt had been ripped off.

A scrape sounded at the door. The captor muscled open the door and stepped inside.

Emma let out a sob as the man strode over to them.

"What is this about?" Spinner asked, turning up his head to face the man. He glimpsed enough of the face to determine that this person was no one he knew.

The man continued staring, betraying no movement. His eyes appeared rimmed and as large as plates. Spinner told himself it was trick of light.

"Listen, if this is about Rick Murray," Spinner rasped. "I'm sorry. I didn't know that would happen. The milk thing. I didn't think it was a big deal. But I was wrong, obviously."

The wide eyes gave no hint that he guessed correctly.

Emma began to sob in earnest. She curled forward, wrenching the ropes tighter around Spinner. He suppressed a wince.

"Look, this is my fault," Spinner explained. "All of it. Emma had nothing to do with it. She was always kind to Rick. So you could let her go. There's no reason she should be here."

Still no reaction.

"She won't tell anyone." Spinner began to waver in his speech. "I get that you brought us here for some kind of punishment. Emma's innocent. You wouldn't want to hurt an innocent person, right?"

A heavy object slammed to the floor in front of him. Spinner took his eyes off the captor to look around on the floor, but he saw nothing around that was not there before. Then the door slammed. The captor had left.

Emma was still crying.

"He's gone," Spinner said, an awkward attempt to comfort her. His own breaths were short and panicky.

He listened for more stray noises. Sound did not carry far. The man's steps ended abruptly once he shut the door on his way out. Spinner could well imagine he was standing just outside the door until he was signaled for his next visit. Signaled by his accomplice. He could not begin to guess where the accomplice was.

It was a long time - a half hour, maybe - before Emma finally dared to talk. "Who was he?"

"I don't know."

"You just said all that stuff about Rick-"

"Can you think of any other reason someone would go through all this trouble to stalk us for weeks and then snatch us?"

She evaded an answer, implying there could be many reasons. Spinner's anger turned. As if she were such a saint. He measured out his breaths to release his anger. He could not afford to have him and Emma sniping at each other.

Who knew if they would get out of here alive.


	42. Chapter 42

Rick emerged from Cole's room. Mr. Landon had persuaded Atlas Boy to join him and Gillian. She would be staying overnight. Mr. Landon planned to drive Atlas Boy home (a neighbor could watch him for the night) and then return. For the moment, Kendra was alone.

"You should call Toby," Rick suggested.

Kendra uncurled from her exhausted huddle.

"Cole's mom is on her way." Her stock answer for her lack of parental support.

"That'll take a while. She's flying across the continent." Rick paused. "You shouldn't have to deal with this alone."

"I'm not." _You're here_, she silently argued. Why was he doing this now?

"You need someone you can talk to. Someone you can lean on, both physically and figuratively." Rick told her. "Call Toby."

Too tired to argue, Kendra detached her phone from her belt and punched in Toby's number.

When he answered, she explained what happened with the boat.

"I'll be right over," Toby promised. Kendra could not work out the logistics of his claim. Toby could not drive, so she did not understand how he could get to the hospital. Kendra could hardly remember how she got here.

Toby arrived quickly. Apparently the outside world moved a lot faster than she remembered. His parents, his father and stepmother, drove him over and came in with him.

Kendra stood up and the two teens engaged in an awkward hug. Kendra found her gaze straying towards Rick, who had retreated back to Cole's room.

Once Toby released her, his stepmother Kate, normally not an especially warm or emotional person, engulfed her in a hug.

"Is your cousin okay?" she asked.

"He's still sleeping." Kendra explained, to excuse the lack of parental support on her end, "I called Cole's mother. She's flying out here now."

"That'll take some time," Mr. Isaacs said. "Have you had dinner?"

Kendra nodded. "I took Rees to the cafeteria about an hour ago." She pointed out the Landons, who were just emerging from Gillian's room.

After introducing everyone, Mr. Isaacs offered to her, "We can take you home, if you need to sleep and get your cousins' things.

"I guess I should stop at home," Kendra thought aloud. "But for a short time. I should be here when Mrs. Sear gets here. Is that okay?"

The Isaacs consented. Kendra shared her praise to the Landons that Gillian was well. Mr. Landon was heading home shortly, to drop off Reese. And (this point was not discussed), Rick remained behind at the hospital

On the way home, the Isaacs entered spurts of conversation; thankfully they left Kendra to her own thoughts. Toby's parents' regard for her emergency was sincere but distant; they did not know Cole and hesitated to intrude with interrogations or criticisms. Marginally aware of Kendra's parents' absenteeism, it was enough for them to confirm that Mrs. Sear was on the way over.

"Five and a half hour flight," Toby calculated after Kendra gave them the flight information. "That's if there are no delays." Which led to a round of trite comments about the state of air travel.

They pulled into the Masons' driveway. The house was dark, which spooked Kendra for some reason: it was not rare for the house to be empty at this hour. The glowing numbers on the car radio revealed it was only eight thirty.

Kendra and Toby ascended from the car and walked through the front door. Kendra refused to look very closely at the steps where that morning they had waited for the Landons to pick up Cole.

"Cole's suitcase is upstairs," she said. "I should get some of my stuff too."

"The TV's on," Toby said, distracted. In case it was important.

"Leave it."

She threw together Cole's things and stashed some toiletries into her schoolbag, in case she spent the night at the hospital. Just as she and Toby lugged down the suitcase and backpack, an insistent pounding sounded at the back door.

Kendra dropped her bag and peered through the window. Craig glared at her through the pane. With a relieved but bothered sigh, she unlatched the door and pulled it open.

"Emma's missing," Craig announced, though his murderous expression indicated he did not think it a revelation for her.

"Oh."

Craig stepped in uninvited. He started when he saw Toby was there.

"Emma's missing," he repeated for Toby's benefit. Then, turning to Kendra, he continued, "If you know where she is . . ."

"How would I know where she is?" Kendra snapped back. "I haven't been here all day."

"Does Spinner know?" Craig needled.

"I doubt it."

"Does Cole?"

"For God's sakes -" Kendra had reached the end of her critically shortened fuse. She had spent the majority of the day dodging the worst, the grisliest, the most unacceptable fate for her cousin - the cousin she was supposed to be protecting - and she failed - and Craig had to march over here with his ridiculous accusations.

Toby interrupted. "What do you mean missing?" he queried, hovering between Kendra and Craig. Kendra was too distracted to notice. "Did Sn- Mr. Simpson call the police?"

"They're looking," Craig said coldly. "They're calling everyone who might have seen her. I decided to come here, since you seem to know all the answers."

He angled his head, searching from where he stood for any sign of Cole.

"Where's Cole?"

"What's that got to do with anything?" Kendra bristled.

Craig was not going to let up until he got an answer. "He's in the hospital," Toby answered calmly. He explained a little about the boating accident.

So it was Craig's wildly imaginative theory about Cole being the next Antichrist, Kendra discerned. "We just came back from there. Why the hell do you think Toby's parents are sitting in the driveway? Atmosphere?"

"And I should believe that?" Craig said, meeker. Then with another surge of indignation, he faced Toby. "She said she was meeting you."

Toby shook his head, not quite getting the meaning. "I didn't see her today."

Craig crowded the younger teens to the wall. "She said you called and asked to meet her at the school. She said you found something important."

It clicked into sense for Kendra.

_Damn, damn, damn._

"I didn't-" Toby protested, pure bafflement emanating from him.

"Are you saying Emma's lying?" Craig thrust a sharp finger at Kendra. "What is she hiding? Why are you suddenly helping her?"

"Just shut up for a minute, Craig," Kendra ordered. Now that he had room to think, Toby began to realize the source of Emma's mysterious meeting.

The phone rang. Kendra whirled sharply, staring at it.

There was no reason to get apprehensive about this call. It could be Mrs. Sear, announcing her arrival at the airport. It could be Spinner, finally checking up on his many messages. It could be Mr. Simpson, finishing his round of inquiries about his stepdaughter.

Retreating from Toby's anxious gaze and Craig's inquisitive one, she stepped over to the phone and lifted the receiver.

"Kendra." That unidentifiable voice breathed, imitating Rick's lusty pronunciation.

Kendra's eyes roamed to the caller ID and, sure enough, Spinner's discarded number was displayed there. .

"What do you want?" she spoke, biting her lip to keep her anger from spilling out.

_You almost killed Cole._

"Don't you already know that, Kendra," the voice lilted. "We understand each other so well. I hope you won't take it badly that I removed your cousin from the picture. He was getting in the way. But I'm sure you'll be able to see him again soon."

"Listen you shitbag," she screamed. "I am not in the mood for your games."

"Have they found your friend Emma yet?"

She knew this was coming.

" And for your brother. But I don't think anyone will care if he turns up dead. They might say he got what he deserved."

"Where are they?" She hated this guy. She thought she felt hatred before, she falsely labeled hatred as a primary reaction against many people - Rick, Toby, her parents - at this instant all those had tamed to mild annoyance. Even her reaction to Dr. Manning would be considered warm and fuzzy in comparison to what she wanted to do to this caller.

"That depends on you, Kendra," the voice taunted. "Are you willing to listen?"

She had no choice. "Yes."

"Four blocks west from the hospital," the voice instructed, chuckling. "I made it easier for you Kendra, I hope you appreciate that. There is an abandoned apartment complex. Four blocks west. The side entrance will be open to you. And Kendra, come alone."


	43. Chapter 43

Toby instantly bombarded her with questions. "Was it him? What did he say?"

He spoke faster than Kendra could think. "He's got Spinner, too."

"Who's got Spinner? And what do you mean too?" Craig demanded. "Do you mean the person who kidnapped Emma just called you?"

"Yes." Kendra shut her eyes. Her brain was on overload and Toby and Craig's barking questions at her was not making it easier. "He wants me to meet him downtown. Alone."

"I'm calling the cops," Craig said, pushing past Toby. He fished out his cell phone.

"No," Kendra shouted. She lunged and slapped the phone out of his hand, then blocked him from scrambling to pick it up. "You'll get them killed."

Craig swore. He looked up at Toby, expecting the other boy to snatch his cell while Kendra was occupied with him. Toby made no move towards the fallen phone.

"They always say that." Do something, he silently exhorted to Toby, who just stood back like a useless lug.

"I'm going down there," Kendra explained.

Craig stopped struggling. "You are not going to meet some dangerous kidnapper by yourself."

"I don't have a choice."

"Call the cops."

"Do you or do you not want Emma safely back?" Kendra said, infuriated. "Isn't that why you came here?"

"Yes, to persuade you to come to your senses and tell the police what you know. Not so you could go out alone to meet some psychopath."

Toby broke in thoughtfully. "Suppose we drop you off there, then we call the cops? Technically they wouldn't be coming in with you."

"If it's not too soon after," Kendra compromised. "I need to be alone with this guy for a while."

"It's too dangerous," Craig claimed. Toby wholeheartedly agreed that this whole idea should not be pursued - except for that pesky little fact that the guy was a ghost who only Kendra could see.

"I'll go tell my parents that you're driving us," Toby said, volunteering Craig for this errand to which he was entirely opposed.

"Who the hell is this guy, anyway? Do you know him, Kendra?" Craig asked as they headed out the door after Toby.

She sought out a shortened version that would not intrude on private subjects. "I don't know his name or anything. But he's been around."

"And you didn't tell anyone you were being stalked?" Craig slipped back into his accusing tone. "You could have prevented all this."

"No I couldn't."

"This is insane," Craig muttered intermittently as he sped down the highway.

Most of his abuse was directed at Toby. "What the hell are you thinking agreeing to this? Letting her trot into some abandoned building alone like she's Sailor Moon. Spinner is going to kill us if anything happens."

"He doesn't have to know you're involved," Kendra said, hoping to stop the litany of complaints.

The complaints, though numerous, were passive. No threats to override the decision, no desperate lunges to his phone to call Joey or the police.

Kendra refused to tell him the exact address until they arrived, instead she directed Craig the last few blocks.

Once the building came in view, Kendra hopped out. "Give me twenty minutes," she instructed.

"Too long," Toby quibbled. "Five."

"Ten." They settled it while Craig, braked in the middle of the street, posed awkwardly at the wheel. Horns blared indignantly around him.

Maybe he would get lucky and Kendra would get arrested for jaywalking.

Kendra slammed the door and ran off, disappearing behind a worn building.

The door opened just as the dead person promised it would. Kendra left a brick in place. Though the dead guy would likely remove the brick, it eased her mind to set up some kind of exit.

She descended down the metal steps. The walls pressed into a dim corridor, lit only by the marginal light from the entrance. A loud hum from the air conditioning filled the building. Kendra was sure its sole purpose was to drown out any shouts for help.

She followed along the corridor. Eventually she met with a series of doors. She tried them as she proceeded down the hall. By the time she reached the midpoint, she managed to get one open.

It opened to a small space. She immediately spotted Spinner and Emma on the floor, tied back to back. They looked up as the door creaked further. Emma squeaked, as if she were about to call out, but abruptly silenced herself. Spinner, who poked her in the back as a warning noticed his sister's eyes trail up and fix on something - someone - behind them.

The dead person was standing there. He watched Kendra back, his face lit with amusement. He wore a black hood, with the hood pushed back, so she could see his face. It was nobody she knew. He was young, only a few years older than her, and somewhat unkempt. His blond hair swirled in a boyish mess. His skin was pale, his bare legs thin and untoned.

The man raised his hand, his arm seemingly laboring under the bulky sweatshirt. He motioned for her to come in.

Her indecision broken, Kendra darted forward. She had just laid her hand on the ropes, to untie them, when the dead guy yanked her away.

"Just relax," he whispered, while, contrarily, he yanked her arms behind her and pressed his wrist into her back so she could not flip out of her hold.

Spinner dug his heels into the floor, in a futile attempt to stand. Kendra had sneaked over to them when suddenly, she was pinioned in the air, her arms wrenched at a painful angle and her feet lifted slightly off the ground.

"Hey!" he shouted. "Let her go! Leave her out of this, you fucking rat." Behind him, Emma stared, shocked at Kendra's sudden levitation.

The hooded man reentered. This time he brandished a gun.

"Watch them," the dead person said. The hooded man turned and aimed the gun at Spinner and Emma, muzzle jumping back and forth between them.

"Don't," Kendra grunted.

"My girl and I are going to have a little talk," the dead person informed his accomplice. "Make sure they don't leave."

He dragged Kendra to the door.

"You pussy," Spinner snarled. "Who do you have with you? Are you so chicken shit you have to hide behind my sister?"

"Spinner, stop," Emma pleaded, too softly.

"You got a problem?" Spinner continued taunting. "Tough. Try dealing with it like a normal human, instead of dragging other people into it."

The dead person cocked his head to the hooded accomplice. "Shoot him."

Kendra screeched just as the gun blasted off. The dead person did not give her a chance to observe the damage. He hoisted her up on his shoulder, maintaining his viselike hold on her, and fled.


	44. Chapter 44

The walls looked fuzzy. Indistinct in the menacing hospital lights.

It did not take Cole long to recognize he was in a hospital. The sounds and smells were universal. The sights less so.

"Hey, Cole," Lyn Sear said.

His brain was slow to cooperate. He recalled first that he was not at home. He was in Canada, staying with his cousins.

"Hey Cole," Rick said. He sat nearer to the entrance. Keeping his polite distance. "You were out for eleven hours."

"Cole," his mother prompted again.

"Mom," he croaked. For some reason his mouth itched. He lifted an arm, to try to wipe his lips, but the IV tube yanked it back to his side. "What are you doing here?"

"Kendra called. She said you almost drowned," Lyn explained, trying to keep calm. "Do you remember anything about that?"

"I think so." Some blurry memories seeped in. The boat trip. Something knocked the boat over.

"Is everyone else okay?" he asked.

"They're fine," Lyn said. A few tears leaked from the corner of her eye. "No one was seriously injured."

A fourth person appeared in the room. He stood at the side of the bed opposite Lyn.

"Now are you sorry?" Finn asked. "If you let me teach you those disarming moves, you wouldn't have ended up here."

"How would that have saved me from drowning?" Cole blurted out.

Lyn tensed. Her hold on Cole's hand became firmer, more clawlike.

"Is someone in here?" she whispered.

"Two of them," Cole stated. "Rick, he's good. He's a friend of Kendra's. The other is a kid. Finn. He won't hurt me."

"You sure about that?" Finn said, straining with an amused grin.

"There's someone else here?" Rick said.

"Cole," Lyn said, patiently waiting until she had her son's full attention. "Did someone . . . start the accident?"

A clearer memory filtered in. This one of a hand hooking onto his life vest. Then he was down underwater.

"I think so."

Footsteps approached the room. Lyn jumped, withdrawing her hands and standing up. She lunged forward, prepared to bar this person from harming Cole.

But it was only Aunt Abby who appeared at the door.

"Where's Kendra?"

Toby and Craig entered the ward amidst a huge argument.

Mrs. Mason saw them come in and advanced on them immediately. "Toby, where's my daughter?"

Toby was no good with lying. If he had had any clue that Mrs. Mason would show up like this, he would have skipped the hospital altogether.

"Is Cole awake?" he asked, obviously stalling.

"Yes." Mrs. Mason's mouth puckered as if this was bad news. "Apparently Kendra called and insisted that Lyn fly all the way out here, when we could have handled this ourselves."

"Mrs. Sear?" he asked the taller woman beside her. "I'm Toby. Kendra's friend." He paused before finishing with the nondescript term "friend".

"Nice to meet you," Mrs. Sear said. "It was good of you to come down and visit Cole."

Mrs. Mason took notice of Craig's appearance. "Craig, is Gavin with you?"

"No." Craig stepped towards the vestibule. "I have to make a call." It was nearing the end of the ten-minute head start.

Toby looked disdainfully at the departing teen. Now he had to field Mrs. Mason's questions himself.

"Kendra had to run an errand. It was urgent." Toby explained. Mrs. Sear comprehended enough of this.

Mrs. Mason, on the other hand, pestered him with questions. "What errand?"

"She didn't really tell me," Toby fibbed.

"Then how do you know it was urgent?" Abby harped. "How come nobody knows where my children are?"

Toby glanced towards the vestibule. Craig appeared to have finished his call, but he made no attempt to rejoin them.

"Would you like to talk to Cole?" Lyn asked him.

"The doctors said family only," Abby reminded them sourly.

"I see." Toby handed Lyn a children's paperback he picked up in the gift shop. "I brought this for him in case he got bored."

Lyn accepted the book. "Thank you. He's wanted to read this for a while. I'll bring it to him right now."

She made her swift escape from her overbearing cousin. He did not mind the exit much, even if it left him alone with Mrs. Mason and her hyper control issues. The sooner Cole, and Rick, saw the book, the better for Kendra.

He had scribbled down the dead person's address on the first page.

The Signal

"Kendra's not back yet," Rick muttered. "Shouldn't she be back by now?"

The hospital had just situated Cole in a different room.

Cole scanned the room for a clock. He had a watch but the EMTs took it. "I'll ask Mom when she comes in."

Hoping to distract himself from Rick's frantic pacing, he leafed open the paperback.

He sat up straighter. The address on the book Toby gave him was scrawled across the top of the page where the story started. The ink was new, not more than an hour or two old. So it must have been Toby that jotted down this address.

"Do you know where this place is?"

Rick dropped his clenched hands and wandered over to the bed.

"That's Toby's handwriting," he confirmed. "We're already on Third St. If I go west . . ."

He worked out his directions as best he could without a map. "Well it shouldn't be far."

"Going somewhere?" Finn asked. Seconds after Rick lit out of the room, Finn positioned himself in the doorway of the ICU.

"Not me." Cole said, easing his way back into bed.

"I'm supposed to make sure you don't leave."

He was unfazed that Cole implied a ghost already slipped past him.

"What do you mean supposed to?" Cole echoed.

Finn folded his arms.

Ordinarily Cole was more patient with ghosts, letting them reveal their problems when they were ready. This time was different. Kendra might be in trouble. Correction: she was almost definitely in trouble, facing off against a dead person who assaulted and kidnapped several living people.

"Who's making you?" he asked, sure that the answer would lead to that same person.

"He's not making me," Finn informed him "I volunteered. So my dad doesn't have to kill you."


	45. Chapter 45

Kendra's attempts to track the dead person's path were fruitless. He launched up the steps, out the exit, and past several similar buildings. Finally he found a storage shed, about half the size of the room where she had found Spinner and Emma. He shoved open the door and dropped her onto the ground.

Before she could scramble up, he shut the door and braced himself between her and the only way out.

An overhead light bulb switched on and Kendra was able to see the captor in great detail once more. Recognition eluded her, and though that was what she had expected, the dead person's strange face disconcerted her.

He leaned over to her. His hand possessed her chin, thumb gliding over her skin in what was meant to be a soothing pattern.

His fingers were ice cold.

"He's not dead," the strange face spoke. "I gave orders that he was not to kill them. And he has to obey my orders."

"Why?" Kendra shivered. The icy fingers made her head ache.

"If you mean why my cohort has to obey me, it's because I help him. I'm the only one who can communicate between him and his son."

He glowed with pride as he talked about his good deed. It sounded more like extortion to Kendra.

"He didn't know at the time there were other options," the dead person continued. "It's too late for him to switch now. He hasn't been quite right since his son's death. The kid was only ten. But you know how these stories go."

He raised slightly, listening to the sirens wailing in the distance. "You called the police."

"You didn't say I couldn't," Kendra reminded him.

He laughed. It started as a low chuckle and rose in pitch until it resembled a hyena's shriek.

"You've got fire, Kendra. Between your cunning and my experiences, we'll make the perfect pair."

Pair? Pair, as in mate? Did Kendra unwittingly fall into some bad modern fairy tale?

She pushed towards the door, but given the cramped quarters, she was immediately stopped by the dead person.

"Don't be scared, Kendra." Once again he laid his fingers against her face. "We'd be perfect for each other. I can help you. I know what it's like, to have those people intruding in your life. Constantly begging you to slave away for their contentment."

_And he says this completely without irony_, Kendra sulked. Unable to keep her mouth peacefully shut, she said, "Doesn't it occur to you that you are one of those people?"

His pale lips plied into a wistful smile. "I know I'm dead. But I'm not like them. I'm doing you a favor. I'm saving you from all those greedy people - the dead ones who scream at you and the living ones who don't understand."

"I can handle the greedy people just fine, thank you." Kendra tried to stand again.

The dead person shoved her down, more roughly this time. "Let me guess. Malcolm Crowe taught you how to face your demons. He told you to talk to them, be friends with them, become their servant."

_Who's Malcolm Crowe?_ That name rang with familiarity, but she had trouble placing it with this icy dead person hovering over her.

"Unfortunately for you, Malcolm Crowe was more interested in helping himself than his patients. You can't trust him, or your dead boyfriend, or any of them. The only people you can trust are people like us."

"Why should I trust you?" Kendra cried out. She jumped back until her back thudded against the wall. It was not the smartest move, shrinking her space, but she wanted to get away from him. "You tried to poison my family, you sent my brother to the hospital with a concussion, you ran down Jay, attacked Emma several times, and you almost drowned my eight-year-old cousin. I'm sure I left a lot of other stuff out, too."

"You don't need any of those people." The dead person crawled closer to her and grasped her hands. "You're the reason I'm here. You need me, Kendra. I'm going to help you. "


	46. Chapter 46

Rick flew down the few blocks, with the torn address clutched in his hand. It was easier to pick out than he expected; several squad cars and an ambulance. Rick double-checked the address.

An advantage to his dead state was that nobody barred his coming in. He called Kendra's name, even though he knew she would not be able to answer back with this crowd. He followed some of the crime scene techs to the basement. A bloodstain bloomed on the cement floor.

There was no sign of Kendra. He combed through the entire floor. He saw the EMTs cart Spinner outside. Emma was on the front steps, swaddled in a blanket.

He approached this girl for the first time since he left. Emma shuddered suddenly, peeked over her shoulder in Rick's direction. But she did not seem to see him. The detective commanded her attention.

". . . can you describe this man? The one who took your friend?"

_Took her friend. Did she mean Kendra? _

Emma stammered, as if she were conjuring the details at the moment. "He was tall. Pale. He was wearing a black hood. I didn't really see his face."

"Do you have any idea where he might have taken her?"

"No." Emma's head swung back and forth. "Kendra had just come in the room. When she saw Spinner and I were tied up, she went over to undo the ropes. Then this guy swooped into the room and grabbed her. When Spinner started shouting at him, the guy shot him. Then he left with Kendra."

The detective closed his notepad. "All right, we're going to take you to the hospital, in case there were any injuries. Your parents have been contacted and they're on their way."

Rick backed away as the detective led Emma to the squad car. He circled behind the building, checking the more obscure exits. There was a guard at the side door, by the alley where Kendra was last seen. From what Rick surveyed, it was the most likely exit Kendra and the dead guy had taken. It led easily into the back alley, branching off into many potential hiding spots.

"My dad is not a killer," Finn argued defensively to Cole's reaction. "He used to be a hostage negotiator. He was good at rescuing good guys from bad guys."

"But he quit," Cole broke in, before Finn launched into the particulars of what made a good hostage negotiator.

"Yeah." Finn's usual smirk wavered. "When he caught me playing with his gun."

The gun had gone off, ricocheting through Finn's skull. Finn's hood was down and Cole could see the wound overtaking the side of his head.

"There was this guy who could help us. In exchange, Dad was supposed to find this kid who stole something from him."

Finn bobbed his head Cole's way. For some reason, the reference caught Cole off guard.

"Me." Cole racked his brain. That part did not yet make sense. It did not really have to right now. Dead people really knew how to hold onto grudges.

"You and that girl were really slow in catching on," Finn criticized.

A shadowed person dodged through the alley. Rick stopped. He had not encountered anyone behind the buildings.

The person was hunched. He lifted up an object to a shed. It was too dark for Rick to identify the object by sight, but he heard a liquid splash onto the wall and smelled the heady fumes of gasoline. He made an educated guess.

He rammed into the guy - or tried to but he sailed through him and the gasoline container. He had never learned to reliably manipulate anything bigger than a magazine. The man stopped. On some level he sensed Rick breezing through him. Rick instinctively patted his shirt, which remained dry.

The other guy was sopping wet.

"You're alive," Rick commented. The man had not heard him. Rick looked to the shed.

He had better find out what this man wanted to burn.


	47. Chapter 47

Kendra caught a whiff of gasoline. It signaled that her minutes in this shed were numbered.

Most everything had been removed from the shelter. There were some blankets on the floor. There was also a long metal ladder. Kendra yanked at the ladder. It stuck fast to its supports.

"Don't make this harder," advised the dead person, with a knowing calmness permeating through him. Fine for him to be calm. If his plan was to torch the shed with her inside, the flames would never touch him. Her ordinary physical flesh, on the other hand, would cinder into jerky.

He knew that the fire would kill her.

She continued her search for a weapon. What she would do with it was another question. Weapons would not work on a dead person, and she doubted she would find anything strong enough to chop through the walls of the shed. Giving that up, she tried lunging at him again, fists forward.

He caught her. Instead of releasing her as he had the other times, he pressed his whole body around her.

"There's no reason to be scared," he hissed in her ear. "It's different for us. The only change is that it makes us less vulnerable."

"That's not true," Kendra argued, but that was all she could eke out before the dead person's cold hand closed over her mouth. _So that was it_, Kendra thought dully. This idiot was going to murder her, because he convinced himself that it was better for her. That it was better for him.

At that moment, flames stabbed through the bottom edges of the shed.

The man - the accomplice - had ignited himself along with the shed.

Rick dodged past him, through the wall. He slammed into the two bodies inside. Kendra was knocked out of the dead person's hold. The dead person who Rick could see. Unless Rick stumbled into another living accomplice.

"You get out!" the dead person.

Kendra recovered in time to take advantage of his distraction. She landed a punch square in his nose. The bristly man collapsed against the wall.

"I can see him," Rick questioned Kendra.

"Of course you can." Kendra grabbed the blankets. She swaddled one around her mouth and attempted to smother the flames with others. The flames spread too fast. They trailed along the perimeter of the shed, passing through the dead person without harming him.

Smoke filled the cramped space. Kendra lowered her head, coughing. Rick shoved the captor aside so she could get to the door. He boosted her towards the door. She pressed her hands against the door - and immediately yanked back. The door was hot.

Rick threw off his sweatshirt. "Here," he said, winding the garment quickly around her hands. "I'll push. You stay behind me."

Kendra leaned into Rick's back. He slammed at the weakened wood, until the door splintered open.

They tumbled out into the alley. Rick lifted Kendra over the charring body of the accomplice and put her down once they were well away from the fire.

Kendra gulped greedily for air. Her eyes stung. Rick helped her lower to the ground. Finally her cough eased.

One of the police officers by the abandoned apartments discovered her. Before long, the alley was overrun with the police, with the firefighters clanging in simultaneously. The paramedics boosted her to the gurney, tearing her away from Rick.

Abby Mason had no sooner returned from checking on Spinner when she was summoned back to the ER. She grumbled about how little the police had told her about what happened and that "ditsy Nelson girl" who did nothing to enlighten them about Kendra's whereabouts.

Lyn delivered the news to Cole that Kendra was found and she was not badly hurt. Eventually, the jet lag and the layers of emergencies throughout the day took a toll on Lyn and she dozed away on chair in Cole's room.

Toby and Craig had gone back to ER when Spinner and Emma were brought in. Toby stopped in briefly to outline the arrangements for the night: since Emma was also staying overnight, Emma's parents booked a second room at a nearby hotel for him and Craig. Toby had not wanted to leave until Kendra was found.

Rick had not shown up yet.

It was well past midnight, and the hospital bustle slowed significantly. The occasional doctor nurse or orderly strolled by, not exactly quiet in their movements, but more subdued by their energy.

Cole's body seemed to miss the message that it was nighttime. No matter how hard he tried, he could not get to sleep. He was tense. Despite Kendra and Spinner and Emma's rescue, nothing had really been resolved.

"My dad died," Finn said, popping out from nowhere. "Just now."

Cole turned his head. His mother had spoken about the captor being brought in, but she did not know any specifics about his condition.

"I'm sorry."

Finn reached over to the heart monitor. He detached the finger from his clamp and easily moved it to his sleeping mother's finger.

"The situation changed," he explained. Cole edged out of his bed. He quietly sifted through his suitcase and pulled out a pair of shorts and his shoes.

They sneaked past the night staff, down the stairs and through the passage to the ER. Finn seemed to know exactly where he was going, but Cole had to guess at the destination. He hoped Finn was leading him to Kendra.

"Who is this guy?" Cole whispered, once they reached anonymity in the ER. "The guy who was supposed to be helping your dad?"

"Never found out his real name," Finn grumbled. "He called himself the Gray Phantom." He lost that cautious edge when he mentioned the dead person his father employed. This dead person, the Gray Phantom, no longer had any leverage on him.

They slipped into a partitioned room similar to where Cole had awakened several hours earlier. Rick waited outside the curtain. He looked like he had been acting as a guard to Kendra.

"What are you doing here?" he asked.

"Is Kendra awake?" Cole said, as the reason of his wandering over here was self-evident.

"Yeah. She's fine," Rick reassured quickly. "It's normal sleep. I'm just out here in case that guy comes back." He added, puzzled, "Did you know I could see him?"

"You could see him?" Cole echoed.

"You're talking to your cousin's boyfriend, right?" Finn broke in. "Of course he could see him. Dead people can see him. How else are they gonna find him?"

The matter-of-fact reasoning chilled Cole, who often wished dead people did not get drawn to him so easily. "That's normal," he summarized. "It's part of his seeing dead people aspect."

"Right." Rick could have thought of that on his own, but they blundered enough operating on assumptions.

"We need to find him. The dead person." Cole avoided the ridiculous nickname.

"Haven't seen him since the shed burned down," Rick said.


	48. Chapter 48

He had come close to her again. Even in her deep sleep, she could feel him. His spite wafted over her. She started to ascend to wakefulness. She felt like a mummy rising from a coffin, weighed down by bandages and resin and centuries of dust.

Her eyelids freed first. She blinked and suddenly she became fully awake.

The dead person was there, standing in the doorway that led to the bathroom. He had dispensed with his black hood, so he stood naked at the foot of the bed. He held a gun out.

"No," she said.

"That's not an option." The gun muzzle danced around. With his jitters he would be lucky to get a decent shot, but she suspected luck - if one could call it that - rated a higher chance in this situation.

Rick barged in. Cole and a friend of his (the other one from the library) slipped in after him

"Get away," the dead guy ordered ineffectually.

"You're holding it wrong," scolded Cole's friend.

Cole did not seem to notice the gun at all. He studied the stranger.

"You're Vincent Gray," he identified.

Vincent Gray thrust the muzzle towards Cole. "You don't know who I am."

Rick stepped in front of Cole. The step was involuntary; he had no way of determining if he would be an effective shield.

"I've seen your picture," Cole said, unwaveringly calm.

Gray's focus switched to Rick. "You can't take her. I'm going to help her."

"I am not accepting your help," Kendra broke in, exasperation taking over. She was not going to sit aside and let the boys negotiate her like she was some object. She tried at a more diplomatic refusal. "I'm sorry you had such a hard time with your ability, but I can protect myself. Besides, the only ghost who endangered my life so far is you."

S_o much for diplomacy_, she thought. She eyed Rick. He bit his lip, trying to hold back an inappropriate chuckle.

"You need help," Gray reiterated. "That's why I'm here."

"I thought you were here because you wanted to punish him," Finn said, pointing towards Cole. "You didn't even know she was here until you followed him."

Kendra stood up, the first one in the room aware of Finn's hint. Gray's eyes widened as his original purpose jabbed into his consciousness.

"That's right," he said softly. He aimed the gun at Cole again.

Finn jolted in surprise. That had not been his intent. He realized that Gray was distracted from his purpose. Discovering a girl with the same ability had tempted him to this distraction. Gray could have more than revenge. He could have a companion; one that would understand what he went through. He would not have to go through his interminable afterlife alone.

Cole was the only one who made no visible reaction to the gun. He focused, zoning out the people who had gotten dragged into what was essentially between him and Vincent Gray. He eyed Gray, who shifted his weight back and forth, appearing like an overgrown version of a child

"You're not going to shoot me," Cole asserted.

"No," Finn screamed. "You do not say that to an armed assailant! That's like the first rule! Never, ever challenge the gunman!"

"Be quiet," Kendra mouthed. Rick looked startled. Not hearing Finn's outburst, he thought Kendra meant him.

"If you were going to kill me, you would have done it by now," Cole reasoned. "You can't kill anyone."

"I already killed someone," Gray blustered. The repetition of it subdued Rick. A memory settled in. Of Rick aiming the gun at Emma. _I already shot someone_, he said. Sean lunged. Then it all ended.

Unlike Rick, however, Gray was no closer to pulling the trigger. "I already killed someone."

"That was before you knew where those people came from," Cole kept on steadily. "You thought they were all in your head. Now you know they're real. You know they won't leave if you shoot them. They'll come back."

"Dr. Crowe didn't come back," Gray choked out. Kendra, making her best effort to keep quiet during all of this, could finally place the name. _The psychiatrist that Cole talked about_. Cole said he was killed by one of his patients.

"He moved on," Cole explained, with a trace of sympathy in his voice. Any more and Gray would have retaliated, taking offense at Cole's pity.

"He didn't help me. He helped you."

"He didn't know-" Cole tried to apologize for his mentor.

"He knew. And he didn't try to help me. He just went away." Gray started to sink to the floor, then suddenly he jerked up and fired his gun.

Rick shoved forward, knocking Cole out of the way. The bullet ripped into his stomach. Rick gasped at the initial pain, but afterward it ebbed away, once he realized the wound in his torso had not grown at all. The pain was an illusion, a weak one that faded with the shock of Gray's near miss.

Gray, meanwhile, turned the gun on himself. His head blasted open, a giant hole gaping at his temple. He did not drop. He stood, stupefied at his continued existence. The gun fell through his limp hand and vanished.

Cole gingerly stood up, proving he came away from this uninjured.

Kendra wanted to go to him but she did not dare turn her back on Gray. She ambled forward. She searched the floor around him.

"Where's the gun?" she said, speaking in a low voice so she did not break the soft rhythm Cole had set up.

He clasped her arm, his bony knuckles bruising and blistering.

"Come with me," he pleaded. "I need you."

"I can't," Kendra said. Somehow her outrage - that he demand she give up her life for him - did not peak as high as it had through his previous assaults.

The large man, the accomplice, barged in through the bathroom. Gray swiveled his head, his hand still clinging to Kendra.

"You're dead," he acknowledged to his accomplice. He turned and sought Kendra's gaze, then Cole's. "I guess I killed someone after all."

The man detached Gray from Kendra and dragged him away.


	49. Chapter 49

"My dad was here?" Finn said. "I didn't see him."

"He'll come back," Cole promised. "Revenge wasn't his purpose. He just wanted to make sure Kendra and I were safe. That was what he was trained to do, right?"

"Right." Finn smiled proudly, then gave a wistful sigh. "Damn, I really blew it. I didn't save everyone."

"We wouldn't have gotten to Kendra on time if it weren't for you," Cole said honestly.

"That's right." Finn puffed up. "I saved her life."

Kendra settled back in her bed.

Rick stood by her, looking uncomfortable. He was not staying much longer and he did not know what to say to her. He did not want to talk about Vincent Gray and make comparisons that they were both aware of.

She closed her eyes, but her breathing was too rapid for her to be sleeping. The day had tired her out. Her head tipped back over the edge of her pillow, her neck lengthening. She was utterly relaxed.

"I'll be leaving soon," Rick said.

Her eyes fluttered.

"I'll miss you," she said. She accepted it. She had to accept it. Much as she would like to rail against it. To forbid him to go. She had no right to make him stay simply because she would miss his company.

"I suppose I'll miss you," Rick replied. Neither he or Kendra were familiar with what came after the dead person stage. Now that it was coming, Rick did not feel as anxious about where he would end up.

Her eyes parted open. She wanted to look at him. He grinned that shy grin that she had not seen since he was alive. It glowed enigmatically through the dim night lights of the hospital.

"I wish things were different." Her damn mouth. She had to speak and now she was going to ruin this last moment. Tears stung her eyes. Rick's silhouette blurred.

Rick thought back to his unhappy years at Degrassi. Kendra might argue otherwise, but Rick wondered if his fate was sealed that moment he rammed his fist into Teri's head. He had not been able to redeem himself from that. He had not wanted to. He had been angry about the interruption it had posed in his life and he just wanted everyone to forgive and forget.

"I was unhappy," Rick revealed. He sat down by her. For once she did not budge away. He lowered over her and brushed her lips against hers. "I'm not unhappy now."


	50. Chapter 50

"Are you done packing?" Lyn called up the stairs.

"Yes." Cole did not bother peeking up from his cards. He, Kendra, and Spinner gathered in the guest room (after today, it would once more be the guest room.) Kendra and Cole spread the bed while Spinner sat in the desk chair, his braced and bandaged leg propped up on the corner of the bed.

"Doesn't distract easily," Spinner observed. He had tried several diversion tactics throughout repeated rounds of gin rummy and none of them had worked.

"Oh, hell no," Kendra agreed. She could not resist glancing up at Cole, seeing the kid riveted over his card combinations.

Spinner had finally forgiven Kendra for being a freak of nature. He barely even threw a scene when he found out Cole had the same ability. "Nobody tells me anything," he had moaned when the two of them visited him the morning after his surgery.

Kendra did not let them know she felt bad about Gray: that she was the last person Gray had plied for help and she would not do anything. And she missed Rick. That she did was no surprise, but it bore into her with a gnawing intensity. She kept expecting him to pop into the room at random times - but of course, he had been here for over a year.

Rick should be overseeing the game, peering at her over the magazine he read. No, Rick should be sleeping in at his own home or eating breakfast with his mother or plotting some project with Toby.

"Gin," Spinner announced, pumping his arm in the air. Cole sighed and dropped his cards on the bedspread. He was awfully close. As for Kendra, she had barely moved a card through this round. She had been too busy pining away.

Her phone bleeped, offering a much needed distraction. She pulled it off. "Start without me," she called as she roamed to the privacy of her room.

"Hey," Toby said shyly. "Is Cole leaving today?"

"Hi." Kendra flopped onto her bed and stretched out until her head pushed into her headboard. "Yeah. This afternoon."

"Oh. It's too bad he and Lyn can't stay longer."

"I know," Kendra said, resigned. "But Lyn has to get back to work. And Cole does have a life in Philadelphia."

More than she did, even after her celebrity status from the big abduction. People from school kept calling her, wanting to know what happened. Manny, Liberty, classmates from the poetry class that she and Emma had both dropped, as they would never be able to make up their work after all that trauma. Emma had called, once. "I don't know what happened back there, and I don't want to know," she added in a rush. "I just wanted to thank you for doing what you did to save me from that man." In Emma's reconstruction of events, there was only one captor and he was gone.

"Of course," Toby agreed. He paused. "Listen, Kendra, do you want to go to a movie on Friday night?"

Kendra trudged through his offer. A movie. Friday night. While she would like to hang out, the scheduling sounded more a date.

_No. No. NO!_

"I can't," she echoed, just as apologetic but just as unwilling to give in.

"Kendra?" Toby's voice heightened in concern.

"I'm sorry. I can't."

"If this is about the DPs" - the dead people. How like Toby to find a computer shortened term for them - "I don't care about that. You obviously know what you're doing."

Her inner critic chuckled at that. What a lie. If she knew what she was doing, she could have accepted Rick leaving so much better than she did.

"It's not about that." Kendra quashed one argument, only to open up another. Contrary to what Toby told himself, their fights on the eve of their breakup were not all about her hiding her secret. "It's . . . a lot of things."

"What things?" Toby interrogated.

"I'm not sure. It's kind of confusing. But I can't jump into a relationship like this right now."

"What jumping?" Toby asked, exasperated. The argument was mounting. "All I did was ask you to a movie."

"And I can't go."

"Jeez, Kendra, stop doing that secretive thing. I already know, so there's no reason-"

"No reason not to pick up where we left off?" Kendra finished sharply. "I'm sorry but it doesn't work like that."

"I don't see why not. It doesn't have to be complicated."

"Wait, is the only reason you've been hanging around lately is because you want us to get back together?" Kendra retorted.

"Nooo," Toby answered weirdly. "No, it's not."

"Well, you think about it. Talk to you later." She hung up, then rolled forward and buried her head in her arms for several minutes.

"Mind if I take a picture?" Lyn asked.

"Do you mind?" Cole asked Kendra, as if either of them had much of a choice. She shrugged. They headed up the stoop, Cole tagging Spinner on the way. "You too, gimpy."

"Taking orders from an eight-year-old," Spinner grumbled. He staggered up on his crutches.

"Cole," Lyn tried to scold, but a few laughs trickled out

"Don't worry, Lyn," Kendra spoke up. "After a few days away from us, he'll be back to his normal, polite self."

Lyn aimed the camera. The three relatives posed stiffly, like young people who are asked to appear in a photo for adults. Lyn snapped off a few pictures, then mercifully declared them done.

Just as she put away her camera, Joey arrived with Angie.

"Hey, so you're heading back?" he asked Cole. Joey and Lyn had been introduced the previous day. Angie had not come with, as Joey had not been sure Cole had been up for visitors.

"Hi," Cole nodded.

"Is that your mom, Cole?" Angie chirped. "Daddy said you fell out of the boat sailing. Did you see any squids in the water?"

"Sorry, no squids," Cole said patiently.

"Are there even any squids in English Bay?" Kendra pondered.

"You'll have to ask Atlas Boy." Atlas Boy and his father had been by earlier. The boys had each other's email and house addresses so they could exchange maps or other artifacts.

Cole stepped forward to introduce Lyn to Angie and Angie let out another barrage of questions.

"Sorry Craig couldn't make it." Joey said to Kendra and Spinner. "He's helping out at the garage today, and we're swamped with customers."

"No problem," Spinner said. Kendra pressed her lips together in disapproval. Coward, she silently called Craig.

"How's the leg?"

"It doesn't hurt too much." The doctor's said his leg would heal completely within a few weeks. It had been a bittersweet moment: part of him felt guilty for enjoying his exceedingly good luck that he escaped death or permanent injury.

While Joey was occupied talking to Spinner and Kendra, Cole leaned over and whispered, "Angie, that guy who pushed you over in the studio room? He said he was sorry and he didn't mean to hurt you. It was an accident."

Finn told him that part. It had not been part of Vincent Gray's grand scheme. Finn had seen Cole and Atlas Boy sneak into the prop room and decided to go in after them and mess with them. "I didn't see the girl. She just came out of nowhere," Finn explained, frazzled. "And she was pushing into my hiding spot and I reacted." Cole pointed that Angie might not have seen him, which had occurred to Finn later.

One part of this whole puzzle that eluded Cole was that Atlas Boy had seen and talked to Finn. Atlas Boy never gave any indication that he saw any other dead person. Kendra had mentioned that his mother sat by him in the hospital waiting room for several hours and he had never noticed. It could have been Finn using a trick he learned from Vincent Gray, but how Finn could manage to pull it off, and how Gray could have taught him, raised some questions. Finn could not, or would not, supply the answers.

Angie pouted as she deliberated over this new bit of information. "He'd better not do it again," she said finally.

Cole smiled wistfully. "He won't," he promised

The Jeremiahs left and Cole and Lyn were getting ready to depart as well. Lyn thanked Kendra and Spinner for being such wonderful hosts and they exchanged promises to stay in touch. Lyn knew she would firmly keep to that promise. Even though Cole had made great improvements over the last year, now he had someone who had gone through the same issues. Kendra and Spinner were great kids. It was a shame Abby did not appreciate them more.

Lyn thought Abby might have come around a little, after that scare the day she came out to the hospital. "I wish they had called me," Abby had said mournfully. Then in a rare reflective moment, she had sighed, "But I can see why they didn't." In the short intervals Abby had spent with the kids while they were recovering from their wounds, she had been more concerned about their well-being and less fraught about their successes and failures. Dave had been concerned too, in his own gruff way.

Finally she and Cole clambered to the rental car. "Bye, he said, hugging Kendra tightly. Kendra hugged back awkwardly. Finally Cole released her. "See you, Spinner." Spinner feared a hug, but Cole only offered a handshake, which Spinner also returned awkwardly, shifting his crutch under his elbow and dangling down his forearm.

Cole hopped into the car. As the car pulled out of the driveway, Kendra spotted Vincent Gray across the block. He donned his black hood again, though the hood was folded down, showing his gray blond hair and pasty skin. The gleam of the sun missed him, developing him like an old photograph.

Finn's father developed behind him. He placed his hand on Gray's shoulder, in case Gray decided to pursue the living humans again.

_So the man did not abandon Gray. _

Finn joined the specters. They posed together like that, Finn and his father concentrating on Gray, while Gray concentrated on Kendra with an inscrutable expression on his face.

It seemed Gray had gotten what he wanted.

A white van passed by, cutting between Kendra and the ghosts. Gray and his keepers disappeared.

Spinner noticed Kendra's gaze. "What is it?" he asked, squinting at the vacated spot down the street.

Kendra looked away. "It's nothing."


End file.
